Ronins of the Waves
by Messernacht
Summary: The epic tale of honour, terrorists and three incredible warships. No Matthew Reilly characters. Is written in a similar style though
1. Prologue

Prologue

Silence.

The full moon sparkled on the calm waters of the Hauraki Gulf. Its rays reflected the crests of small waves headed towards a distant shore. A low sea-fog muffled the noise of the sea to a quiet murmur. The lights of Auckland were a mere shimmer in the distance. Quiet. Tranquil.

With a roar, the freighter burst out of the fog-bank; its lights dimmed, its fog-horn silent. Actions that a wise skipper would see with horror; actions a smuggler would see as a god-send. Even a small, overweight businessman whose boating experience amounted to feeding the fish at the offices Christmas cruise could tell that this was a ship that did not want to be found. Of course, this businessman was not there at this moment; precisely the reason the freighter was here. The moonlight glinted off her rails as she slid through the ocean.

On the darkened bridge, the captain glanced at his instruments. All green on the engines, the ship was dark and the 'cargo' was secure. He glanced nervously at the cargo status. He knew that this was illegal; that smuggling nuclear warheads from the old Soviet Bloc through New Zealand waters was against the sovereign rules of the nation, but the man with the briefcase had been adamant. As had his compensation fee.

His thoughts wandered to his crew. The engineers had jumped at the chance, and indeed his decision may have been different if they had sided with the law. But still, 15 million between a crew of seven can go a long way.

He glanced forward, searching for the ship he thought was there, but the radar said was not. For a moment, the fogbank to port swirled and a ghostly shape swept past. The captain squinted, and then reverted his gaze to the bow.

Then his head swivelled back to the side port. Shadows do exist in the fog-bank, but in seventeen years of sailing, he had never seen a fog-shadow _follow a ship_…..

"Christ" he breathed, as he reached for the alarm that would rouse his ship to action. Too late.

A blaze of light slammed into life from the shadow, blinding the captain and forcing him to recoil. Then came the voice.

"Ahoy me hearty. Nice night for a cruise?"

Then a second blaze from the port side.

"For Christ sake, stop messing with the man. Attention unidentified vessel. Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded." Both these comments were then underlined by two ships ghosting out of the fog, cannons trained on the freighter

To say the captain was stunned was beyond words. In the space of 30 seconds, not one but _two_ ships had materialised from the fog and blown his chance of a cool 15 million out the window. His hand crept to the throttles and shoved them forward. The freighter began to accelerate, leaving the two shafts of light far behind. A moment later, the freighter burst out of the fogbank, tendrils of vapour trailing from its upper masts.

The captain breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he could deliver his cargo after all. He breathed a sigh of relief, just as a ship that seemed to take up the whole horizon breathed out of thin air _right in front of him!_

The captain screamed a prayer to whatever god he worshiped and threw the wheel to the side. The freighter heeled over, its side-rail near in the water.

Down below deck, the crew of the freighter were tossed from their bunks by the violent manoeuvre. Many were stunned, but some figured that their survivor's luck had run out.

A new voice rang out. "Nice try matey. Heave to, bring your crew above deck and prepare to be boarded."

The captain groped for the throttles and pulled them back; no way he was messing with these ghost ships that moved like the mists. Suddenly, the intercom squawked.

"Captain, we have injured down here! What the hell's going on?"

The captain stood, silent, as a helicopter lifted from the ghost ship and headed in his direction.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One 

Ramius Manor charged through the door of the English block, sprinting up the stairs. Class had started five minutes ago, and if he were late again, Mrs Blanter would have his head on a platter. Luckily, the 18-year-old was in great shape, and the sprint was quick and lively, almost with military precision. He dashed towards the door. Maybe if he got there first…

"Late again, Mr Manor?"

Ramius skidded to a stop. There she was, the blimp of Mrs Blanter. "I assume you know what this means?"

Ramius just stood there, His mind wandered to the view of the ocean, and its memories…

"If you're late again, she'll rip off your arms."

Ramius turned. There in front of him stood Lisa, from English. His heart skipped a beat.

"You can't keep turning up late. You'll never pass."

"I know, I know…"

Lisa looked at him with concern. "Just where do you go all the time? Why are you always late?"

Ramius looked up. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Lisa stared at him in horror. Then she saw the smirk on his face. "Oh you…" She punched him on the shoulder, then sat down beside him.

"By the way, pass me your phone." Ramius dug into his pocket, handed it over. Lisa typed for a second, then smiled. "There," she said. "Now whenever I text you, your phone will play 'Anchors Aweigh'. Cool eh?"

"Wicked," Ramius laughed.

They sat in silence for a minute.

"So," Ramius said, "You still going to Mauanui next week?"

"Yeah," Lisa said with a smile. "Two weeks of tropics. It's going to be great. Sun, sand, more sun. Be great for my tan"

Ramius looked away, his smile gone. "I see."

Lisa looked at him. "Why the long face?"

Ramius snapped back to reality. "Nothing. Just thinking"

"Fair enough"

Lisa stood up. "So I'll see you in three weeks then?"

Ramius smiled. "You couldn't keep me away"

Lisa smiled, walked away as the bell rang for the next class. Ramius just sat there, staring after her.

The beeping in his pocket didn't get through to him. He suddenly realised. Reaching into his pocket, he walked to an unoccupied classroom. Sliding in the doors, he pulled out his cell-phone and pressed three buttons.

"Yeah"

"Have you asked her yet?"

Ramius scowled, recognised exactly what Jordan was on about. "Goddamnit Jordan. I keep telling you, those satellites are for reconnaissance purposes only."

"I was doing recon. Just happened to be over your area."

"Yeah right," Ramius said as he walked outside. He raised his middle finger at the sky. "Recon that."

The voice on the phone chuckled. "I'll pretend I never saw that. So, have you asked?"

"Not yet. I'll ask when she gets back from her trip."

"Yeah right. Anyway, the Admiral wants us at a conference in the city tomorrow. You gonna be there this time?"

"Yeah alright. I'll see you then."

"OK. You know, one day, she'll be gone and you'll never be able to ask."

Ramius raised his eyes. "I know." He closed his phone and sat, looking into the distance.

The next day, a green Toyota came to a halt at the bottom of an underground parking garage in the city of Auckland. Ramius turned off the engine and flashed the lights twice. After three seconds or so, the park started to lower into the ground; a secret lift of its own. Ramius just sat in the car, enjoying the ride. Meanwhile, scanners in the wall scanned the car and him for weapons. Finding none, the lift continued to another floor. When the lift stopped, Ramius drove forward into another park between a blue Aston Martin DB9 and a white Nissan Ad. While you wouldn't have thought it, the Aston was actually the _second_ most powerful car in the garage. The Ad was a powerhouse, the signature vehicle of Jordan. Ramius got out and went to a door at the far end of the floor. He held up his hand to the door. More scanners checked him again, then with a click the door unlocked. Before Ramius was now a wide reception area, with a desk in the middle. At the desk sat a security guard, defending the passage behind him. While one guard seemed a little lax, this one guard had at his command a veritable arsenal of weapons at his disposal, including three robot drones, two grenade launchers and a minigun that fired from the ceiling. Ramius walked past, nodding to the guard. The guard grunted in reply and pulled his hat over his eyes. While this looked like a relaxed pose, the guard was ex-SAS and was always ready to move. Ramius walked down the corridor, past various research labs with various experiments going on in each. In one, scientists were attempting to create new forms of titanium alloy. In another, an experimental gun was shooting down targets fired from another similar weapon. In a third, a group of scientist gathered around a beaker over a Bunsen burner. Ramius looked in, interested, Suddenly, the beaker erupted in blue smoke, enveloping the scientists. When the smoke cleared, the scientists were all a pleasant shade of turquoise. Ramius chuckled, continued to the conference room at the end of the corridor and walked in.

At the conference table were three others, each a member of Dradle Industries' Special Task Force. The Task Force was intended to defend the interests of Dradle Industries in the South Pacific. Under the command of the illustrious Admiral James Bickerson, the Task Force had many a mission under its belt. The Admiral sat at the head of the table, looking over a large file of budgets. On his left sat Jordan, Ramius's good friend. Both had joined the organisation when it had been started, and as such each held high up positions; Jordan was in charge of Engineering and Technology, whilst Ramius was head of Development and Deployment. Each ran their departments in co-operation with the other. Both were also key to the actions of Dradle Industries in the South Pacific. The third person at the table was Margaret Petror, head of Research. Margaret was the intelligence expert, gathering information from Dradle Industries' many sources and distributing it wherever it was required.

The Admiral stood and shook Ramius by the hand. "Ramius, congratulations on a successful mission last night."

Ramius smiled. "It went off well," he said. "The freighter never knew we were there until we lit off the floods. Then all it took was to herd her towards the Big T."

"Yeah. Plus the whole pirate style of dealing with them has it's own type of charm," interjected Jordan, reclining in a chair with his feet up on the conference table.

The Admiral smiled back. While he was the face of Dradle Industries, these two were the heart of the Task Force.

Ramius turned to Margaret, who was sitting typing on her laptop. "So what happens to the crew and the nukes?"

Margaret looked over her spectacles. "The warheads have been returned to the Russian government. And yes," she said as Jordan made to ask something, "the check has cleared."

"Excellent," Jordan crowed. "The next payment is due on my yacht too. Good timing those smugglers had."

"Forgetting about that overgrown canoe of a yacht you love," the Admiral said sternly, "We have new information about the group who was buying the weapons. Margaret?"

"The terrorist group who paid for the weapons is the group Global Anarchy, led by this man." She pointed a remote at the wall, which switch to a wide-screen monitor. An image of a clean-shaven, wavy haired male with squinted eyes came up on screen. "This is Scott Tranous. Leader of Global Anarchy, he was the one behind the purchase of the weapons. Of course, the NSA has completely ignored our advice about finding him."

Ramius crossed his fingers. "So it's a matter of waiting?"

"I'm afraid so," muttered the Admiral.

Meanwhile, in the Pacific, a man stood gazing out over the ocean. The stars sparkled, and the waves were calm. The man was tall, with a sword in a sheath at his side. His wavy dark hair was ruffled by the sea breeze. He stood, calm.

Another man walked up beside him. "It's confirmed. The target will be on the island in one week's time."

Scott Tranous, leader of Global Anarchy, smiled. "Prepare the fleet. This time, we shall not fail."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

The blazing tropical sun beat down on the sandy white beaches of Mauanui, tropical jewel of the South Pacific. Tourist flocked here most summers, drawn by its vast beaches and sparkling seas. The island, situated clear in the middle of the South Pacific, was an island paradise.

On one of the beaches, Lisa reclined in the sun. She rolled over, gazed out to sea. The clear blue water looked warm and inviting. She stood and headed for the water.

Out to sea, a fishing boat bobbed on the waves. The crew was happy. Their nets so far had been filled to the brim, and this one they were hauling in seemed no different. The winch was started, the net started to be hauled in, and a helicopter flew past. Then another. And another. The crew were confused. There was nothing from that direction but ocean. They all turned, just in time to see a helicopter carrier with the red eagle symbol of Global Anarchy sail past. The captain dived for a radio, a split second before a missile launched from the ship blasted them all into oblivion.

Back on the beach, Lisa was still staring out to sea. She didn't know why, but something bothered her. But it was a perfect day…

…which made the explosion more of a shock. A split second and the bunkers on the beach blew out with thunderous roars. The concrete and shrapnel blasted across the patio, combined with the screams of the terrified holiday makers. The flames roared across the beach. This was enough to make a Texan oil worker break out the marshmallows; it was that kind of blaze. Lisa turned, and watched as helicopter after helicopter after helicopter roared overhead, heading for the military base at the centre of the Mauanui island chain. Then she turned and sprinted into the jungle.

At the central military base, the Commander in Chief on Mauanui's armed forces was gobsmacked. "Where in hell did these forces come from?" he screamed.

"We don't know!" babbled a technician. "One moment the radar was clear, the next all this crap popped up! It's like an... an… _invasion_!"

The C-in-C looked out the window, at the death approaching his base in the form on an Apache Longbow. Smoke enveloped the chopper as it fired…

The Apache's pilot laughed with delight as his missiles obliterated the building. Now the nerve centre had been removed, the island chain was headless. He pressed the button on his radio. "Sir. The kitten has had its claws pulled. I repeat, the kitten has had its claws pulled." He smiled.

On the other side of the island, the Prime Minister of Mauanui gazed out at the smoke clouds enveloping his island paradise. He heard the door open, then the characteristic _snick-snick_ of a loaded gun. "You can kill me, but you can't kill our spirit," he said. Behind him, Tranous smiled.

"Well, you're right about one thing," as he pulled the trigger.

Thirty minutes later, he waited outside as the Apache hovered over the palaces helipad. As it set down, its pilot climbed out. An absolute bear of a man, this was Jenkirk, Tranous's second in command. Jenkirk grinned like a jack-o-lantern. "It is done."

Tranous smiled. "For now. Begin stage two."

Thousands of miles away, Ramius was contemplating the meaning of Othello as a character. He was about to start writing, when the door burst open. A student charged in. "Global Anarchy just took over the whole Mauanui islands!" he stuttered. "It's on live TV!" He charged back out again as the class erupted in uproar. Ramius just sat there, oblivious to the noise, the futile attempts of Mrs Blanter for silence, his ringing cell-phone. Only one thing on his mind: _Lisa_.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three 

Ramius slammed his fist down on the conference table. "What do you mean, the Americans won't go in?" he roared.

Admiral Bickerson sat at his usual seat. "They say that there will be too much collateral damage. Plus the fact that their main fleet is busy with the whole Iraq fiasco."

The rage on Ramius's face was apparent. He was on the verge of blowing a major fuse. "Margaret, what does the NSA have to say for themselves?"

"Same as usual," Margaret said, calm as ever despite one of her superiors doing a fair impression of Mount St. Helens 1981. "We didn't see it coming." Her face softened. "None of us did."

Ramius sat there, his head in his hands. "I can't just sit here and do nothing," he grimaced.

Jordan, at the other end of the table, turned to his friend. "Are you sure she was actually on the island?"

"No reason to think she wasn't"

Jordan hesitated, "Have you considered that she may be…."

"Don't. Even. Think that." Ramius snarled.

Silence fell upon the conference room. A dark, smothering silence. A silence that was shattered by a ring-tone. All eyes fell on Ramius as he just sat there, singing softly with the theme. "Anchors aweigh boys, anchors aw……"

He grabbed for his phone. "Lisa?" he yelled.

Thousands of miles away, a girl coated in mud and leaves stood on top of a mountain, her eyes closed in relief. "Ramius, thank god," she cried. "Terrorists took over the island. I'm trapped. WHAT'S GOING ON?"

Ramius wiped the tears of relief from his eyes. "Lisa. You're not hurt?"

"No, but there are troops everywhere. Their vehicles have some kind of red eagle on them. Who are they?"

"They're a group called Global Anarchy. It's on the news."

"Oh God," Lisa moaned. "I'm trapped here. Is there help coming?"

Ramius looked up. "She's alive, but she can't stay free for long. Admiral?"

Bickerson stared into the distance. Then he nodded. "Do it," he said curtly.

Ramius turned to the phone. "Lisa, can you stay hidden for a week or so?"

Lisa looked around. In the brush, she spotted an opening. Crawling over, she pulled back the branches. There before her was a wide, deep cave. She turned back to her phone. "I can try."

Ramius stood up, a new fire in his eyes. "Lisa," he said, "turn off your phone, and don't turn it on again for one week." He gazed around his friends. The Admiral was looking at his computer, Margaret was watching him. Jordan, suave as ever, was cleaning a trombone mouthpiece he'd found in his pocket. He looked up, raised his eyebrows. Ramius smiled, turned to his phone "Keep your head down. I'm coming to get you."

Lisa straightened. "I don't know why, but I believe you," she said. A new confidence crept into her voice. "See you in a week then. Goodbye," as she hung up. She looked into the cave, her home for the next week. She sighed. Then smiled. For some reason, she knew that help was on the way.

Ramius put down his phone. The room was silent. Then the Admiral spoke. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say you want the fleet?"

Ramius smiled. "That would be slightly useful sir."

Margaret turned to her computer. "OK," she said, "I'll send the signal to prepare the _Dark Trident_, the _Katana_ and the _Messernacht _for immediate sailing." She glanced up. "Admiral, three ships seems an awful small fleet to fight an awful big war."

The Admiral looked thoughtful. "If I know those two," he gestured towards Ramius and Jordan, "They'll find a way." He turned to the two. "Your crews will be waiting for you at the base. I'll send a message to any governments that may be able to contribute forces. I'll join up with you later." He saluted the two men. "Good luck gentlemen."

Ramius and Jordan saluted back. "Thank you Admiral," Ramius said.

Jordan turned to Ramius, a serious look on his face. "You know," he said, "I hear the weather in the South Pacific is great this time of year".

Washington D.C. The American Secretary of Defence opens the door to his office. He looks around briefly, before spotting a faxed message on his desk. Reading it quickly, he screws it up and tosses it into the bind by the door. It misses. "Bloody crackpots," he muttered.

Moscow. The Russian Secretary of Defence finds a similar fax on hid desk. He picks it up, reads thoughtfully. He then picks up the phone.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four 

The darkened yacht stormed across the ocean. At its helm, Jordan was laid back, enjoying the ride. Ramius, down in the main cabin, was pouring over maps of the Mauanui islands. He was measuring distances, calculating fuel amounts, all the time muttering softly to himself.

"You know," Jordan called, "muttering to invisible people is one of the first signs of madness."

Ramius looked up. "You think I'm mad now?" he said.

Jordan smirked. "Nah. I've KNOWN it for years." He turned back to the helm. "Just pointing it out".

Ramius grinned, went back to the maps. Minutes passed.

Finally, Jordan called down. "Yo. We're here. Get up here." Ramius climbed the ladder to the cockpit. In front of the yacht was the dark, huddled mass of White Island. An active volcano, steam still twirled up from the crater at the top of the island. Jordan steered the yacht towards the cliffs. Very slowly, a darkening mass spread across the cliffs. The yacht sailed into the opening abyss. Darkness held sway here; no light from the outside could drive the shadows away. The darkness then proceeded to get even darker as, slowly, the cliff closed back up. Ramius and Jordan sat in the cockpit, waiting. Then, with a whine, the lights came on. Beneath their blazing brightness, an entire naval base appeared; a base _hollowed out of the cliffs_. Piers stuck out into an underground lagoon, while buildings dotted the flat expanse of land. This was the main deployment base of the Dradle Industries Task Force; the place where the technology developed in labs all around the world was put into service aboard the Task Force's fleet. This fleet was docked beside three dedicated piers.

The first, and largest, was an Iowa-class battleship. This was the flagship of the fleet, _Dark Trident_. Her 800 foot length dwarfed the pier beside her, and her 18-inch cannons gleamed the same way they had when she'd slid off the spillways in 1939. Obtained in a special deal with the US Navy in exchange for the latest Dradle Industries advances in sonar technology, this was the heavy puncher of the Task Force. Of course, with modern technology had come new tricks. The _Dark Trident_ packed its original twelve cannons, each turret enhanced with laser radar or LADAR. Vulcan machine guns provided anti-air defence at close range, while a Sea Wolf SAM system took out targets at a longer range. Beneath her decks, the _Dark Trident _packed gas turbine engines, variable pitch propellers and more horsepower than one could shake a board with a nail in it at. These were only the features that in took in at a glance; the 'Big T', as she was affectionately called, had many more surprises under the deck.

To the starboard of the _Dark Trident _was Ramius's ship, the _Katana_. A smaller ship, this was a surplus Leander-class frigate purchased from a local government that didn't need her anymore. However, she no longer resembled a normal Leander. Her entire superstructure had been streamlined, making her look faster, sleeker, _meaner_. Indeed, new engine technology had been installed, giving the _Katana _a whopping top speed of 70 knots. From the deck rose a single cannon. This cannon closely resembled those aboard the _Trident_, except there was only one. This cannon also had a far longer barrel than the ones on the Big T. This was the primary weapon of the _Katana_, a rail-gun sniper cannon that was designed to fire shells immense distances with pinpoint accuracy. Indeed, it was even possible for the _Katana_ to link in with GPS satellites for over-the-horizon shots. Painted a haze-grey, she seemed to blend into her surroundings. Indeed, she did. Partial adaptive camouflage technology allowed her to become a virtual ghost on the high seas. The _Katana_ was a ship that was never supposed to be seen, and indeed, she rarely was.

To port of the _Dark Trident_ was the third ship of the fleet, the _Messernacht_. Another Leander-class frigate, this was the pride and joy of Jordan. Painted a sky-blue to blend in with the sea as the _Kanata _did, the goals of each ship differed greatly. While the _Dark Trident_ packed the muscle and the _Katana_ stood off at long range, the _Messernacht_ would get right in the middle of things. Equipped with titanium-edged blades that emerged from the sides of the hull, the _Messernacht_ would slash and dice her enemies to pieces. Complete with a sharpened prong emerging from the bow, she looked like a samurai had created a ship of blades. Inside, the _Messernacht_ packed more surprises. On the bridge, every panel was recessed into the wall. The Captain's chair, a plush armchair specially crafted for Jordan, was especially equipped with a steering command console that retracted into the floor when not in use. In the engine room, the propellers were capable of rotating 360 degrees, thus allowing a kind of power steering. Back on deck, a retractable mortar turret could deploy and fire in any direction. This mortar could fire a range of shells; anti-submarine, anti-air, smoke, flash-bang, radio, and of course, high explosive. Mounted on the bridge structure was a gathering of spires. These were a new weapon for the Dradle Industries labs, a Ship-mounted Electro-Magnetic Pulse Projector, or SEMPP. This could deactivate any electronics within a 30 mile radius, as well as other abilities.

Ramius stood at the docks, gazing at the fleet that he would take across the Pacific. Jordan stood beside him. They looked on in silence. Finally, Jordan spoke.

"So this is your grand fleet?"

"Yeah"

"That you are going to take to Mauanui."

"Right"

"Through all of Global Anarchy's defences."

"Yup"

"You're going to find Lisa."

"Certainly"

"Get her out."

"Yes"

"And sail back to New Zealand waters"

"Bingo."

They continued to watch the fleet at its moorings. Finally, Jordan sighed.

"Knew I should have raised my life insurance."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Mauanui in siege. The sky had cleared of smoke, but every way you looked, vehicles with the Global Anarchy symbol patrolled the island chain. Here and there, a sedan would cruise down the street, its occupants armed with AK-47's and such, looking for any civilians who may be trying anything. Occasionally, a car would stop, its occupants would get out, load their weapons and blast some poor dog to bits, laughing the whole while. This was martial law, obey or die.

At the Presidential palace, Tranous gazed out. This was his own empire. He smiled. Beside him, Jenkirk was busy taking apart his rifle and putting it back together again while timing himself. He stopped his timer. 47 seconds. New record. Jenkirk grinned, looked up.

"So now we got the islands, what's next," he said.

Tranous didn't look at Jenkirk as he spoke. "The missiles arrive in four days," he said. "After that, the crews will take about three days to set up. After that my friend, no one will be able to touch us." Finally, he turned.

"Soon, the entire world will face the might of Global Anarchy, and we will go down in history."

In the mountains, Lisa woke. She looked about herself. Everything was where she had left it, and the brush across the cave entrance was still there. It looked like no one had been by. Nevertheless, she poked her head outside. No footprints. She went back into the cave and grabbed her water bottle. Emerging from the cave, she crept down the hill to a small stream. Submerging the bottle, she didn't notice the three figures creeping towards her. Suddenly, Lisa looked up. The little boy in front of her gave a sharp cry and jumped back. He looked positively petrified.

Lisa forced a smile. "Hello," she whispered. The boy looked on, terrified. Now that Lisa looked, she could see others in the jungle. Dressed in shifts of cloth, they looked like frightened deer. Lisa smiled at them. Eventually, one approached. He was about 50, tall with a handlebar moustache, and he was covered in mud.

"Who are you?" said the gentleman.

"I'm Lisa," said Lisa. "And you are?"

The man shook his head. "Sorry. Forgot my manners." He extended his hand. "I'm Bruce Featherguill. I'm the Australian ambassador to Mauanui." He looked suspiciously at Lisa. "You're not…..one of them, are you?"

Lisa smiled slightly. "No. I'm just trying to stay alive." She looked behind him. "Who are they?"

Bruce turned. "They're refugees I've picked up along the way. We're heading for a cave I know is near here. Want to tag along?"

Lisa stood up. "I've already found the cave. Would be great for some company."

Bruce looked serious. "Do you know if any help is coming?"

Lisa smiled broadly. "My friend, he's on his way."

Bruce looked skeptical. "Your friend? With what? With all due respect, but I was expecting something a little bigger than your friend."

Lisa smiled some more "Yeah," she said, "but you don't know Ramius."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six Three days later 

The sea was calm, with only the odd cloud in the sky. A soft wind caught and carried an albatross, wandering across the ocean. The albatross gazed around sleepily. Far below, three ships steamed across the sea. The albatross gave a tired caw, then flew on.

Down below, Ramius stood on the deck of the _Katana_, breathing in the fresh, clean air of the mid-Pacific. It never failed to cleanse him of the troubles of land. A roar suddenly blasted to life off to starboard. Ramius turned to see a Sea Harrier blast past his ship, heading off in front of the fleet. He grinned, flipped down the microphone from his hat and put it to his lips.

"Welcome Admiral. Nice to see you joined the party."

In the Sea Harrier's cockpit, Admiral Bickerson grinned. "Couldn't let you have all the fun," he said. He glanced down at his instruments. "I'm going to be on the deck of the _Dark Trident_ in five minutes. I want to see you and Jordan on the video link in fifteen."

"Roger that," said Ramius. "You hear that Jordan?"

On the _Messernacht_, Jordan put his trombone back on its stand. The stand then retracted into the floor. "You always want the vid-link when I'M busy," he moaned. "I was going to take the _Gabel_ out for a spin."

"Can the back-chat," the Admiral snapped. "Be there in fifteen."

"Fine, fine," Jordan grumbled.

All Ramius could do was laugh. This constant conflict between the Admiral and Jordan was a source of great mirth. He tugged on the brim of his hat and headed inside to set up the link.

Fifteen minutes later, Ramius was seated in the wardroom of the _Katana_, the video images of Jordan and the Admiral staring back at him.

"Right," said the Admiral. "Good news or bad news first?"

"Can we hear the good news first for once?" asked Jordan, typically leaning back in his chair, a cup of tea balanced on the console beside him.

The Admiral glared. "You spill that, the cost's coming out of your next few pay-checks," he growled.

Jordan chuckled. "Umm, I think I could handle it," he said. "I can rewire a nuclear missile, fix helicopters with my eyes closed _and_ program my VCR. Can _you_ do that?"

The Admiral turned a curious shade of purple. Ramius snorted into his coffee. "Bad news first Admiral," he said before the Admiral could explode.

The Admiral turned back to his papers. "Right. Bad news is, satellite imaging shows that Global Anarchy is pretty well entrenched on the islands. Nothing short of a complete invasion will get them off that rock. So," he said, "We're going to have to be in and out before they know what's hit them."

"Sounds easy," muttered Jordan. "What's the good news?"

"The good news is that in about two days, a major storm system is going to sweep over the islands. Perfect stealth weather. You should be able to get pretty close before you are spotted."

Ramius sat up. "What about patrols? Anything we need to take care of?"

The Admiral looked directly into the camera. "We've found most of the Global Anarchy fleet, but some elements are wandering randomly. We won't pick them up until…..'

Abruptly, a klaxon went off on the _Katana_. Ramius reached over and grabbed a headset. "What's happening?" he barked.

"Radio just picked up a distress call from an Australian medical task force," reported the conn. "Their heavy cruiser escort just went under and the other ships are now under attack. Sounds like they're in need of some assistance"

"Alright. Turn towards them and accelerate to 50 knots," Ramius ordered. He looked up, smiled at the camera. "Got a small problem here," he said.

Jordan looked up lazily. "Need a hand?'

Ramius looked hurt. "It's only a few ships. How hard can it be?"

Jordan yawned. "I'm on my way then."

"I'll stay back and provide fire support," said the Admiral. "You two handle this well and we may get more contracts with the Aussies. Good luck".

The fleet underwent a change. The _Dark Trident_ began to lose headway, while the _Katana _quickly got up on plane. The sight of 4000 tons of ship barrelling across the ocean at 50 knots was truly a sight to behold.

20 miles away on the bridge of the Australian hospital ship HMAS _Callaghan_, Lieutenant Gina Celranigan looked on in horror. The heavy cruiser assigned to protect her unarmed ship had just detonated with a thunderous roar after being hit by a missile. Around the remains of her group circled no less than seven destroyers, each with the Global Anarchy symbol painted on its side. One circled in front of the _Callaghan_, its 20mm cannons blasting the windows of the bridge to pieces. Celranigan dived for the deck and waited for the end. An immense detonation thundered across the water. Celranigan waited for the blast of heat that would be the end of her life. When it didn't appear, she looked round, then peeked over the edge of the bridge. Where the destroyer had been 20 seconds ago was now a few pieces of burning wreckage, with some pieces raining from the sky. "Crikey," she said. "What the hell happened there?"

On the bridge of the G.A. destroyer _Furhammerler_, Captain Lanc Marabdell looked on in horror. If Lt. Celranigan had been shocked with the sudden dispatch of the destroyer threatening her, Marabdell was beside himself. The attack had gone well so far; the Australians had been just where he had expected and the escort had put up no fight before it was sent on its final voyage to the bottom of the sea. All that was left was this hospital ship. All had been looking peachy, until one of his ships just went to pieces, quite literally. "Find out what happened!" he roared. As he did so, he stared out of the bridge of his command. As he watched, he saw a contrail moving across the sky. As he looked closer, he saw that this contrail was moving incredibly fast and was heading in his direction. The contrail ended abruptly as another destroyer lifted out of the water and shredded. Marabdell was horrified. He grabbed the radio and barked an order to the other ships under his control. "Continue to attack! I am withdrawing." He turned to the helmsman. "Get us out of here. NOW!" He looked out the windshield. Another contrail was inbound.

Ramius watched as his crew ran through the firing procedure for the sniper cannon. No crew were on deck, the shockwave from the projectile could seriously injure those in front of it. Down in the bowels of the ship, sailors programmed a firing solution with computer, calculator and even good old trigonometric reasoning. Once each solution was a match to the others, the cannon was aimed in that direction. Ramius stood with his cup of coffee. He watched as the cannon pointed its immense barrel at the sky.

"Solution ready." The report came in "Cannon is loaded and rail-gun system is ready."

"Fire," Ramius said calmly.

"Aye sir. Cannon is going hot. Firing in 3…2…1…Now."

The ocean was blasted as the magnetically fired projectile screamed out of its launcher. The projectile would follow a set flight-path before guidance vanes would steer it in to its target. The speed of the projectile was so high that it literally sucked the moisture out of the air it passed through. The shell kept going until its target was in sight. Its internal logic chips scanned the profile of the ship, and the shell targeted itself on the central bulk of the ship. Screaming in, it hit. The sheer speed of the projectile punched it through the hull. It then followed this act up by detonating. A few seconds after the explosion, the shockwave of the projectile's passage hit the G.A. destroyer. Another one down.

Back on the _Katana_ however, there was a problem.

"Captain, Sniper Control reports that the magno-accelerator is down again. Looks like the same bug as last time."

"Damnit!" muttered Ramius. With this new technology came new bugs, bugs that even Jordan had trouble fixing. "Fine, we'll do this the old fashioned way then. Close with the destroyers."

On board the _Messernacht_, Jordan watched the action through the Automated Battle Link system, which gave access to cameras mounted on the _Katana_. He grinned. Looked like Ramius had his end under control. His headset gave a tone. "Captain, we are now among the G.A. fleet. What is you next order?"

Jordan grinned broadly. "Extend blades." He looked about himself, grinned even wider. "Surface the ship"

On the surface, a destroyer was firing away at the _Callaghan_. Shell after shell was being launched at the hospital ship, with the destroyer taking no fire at all……until the _Messernacht blasted out from beneath the surface_, blades extended. The destroyer was immediately sliced in half, each section filling with water and sinking out of sight. The _Messernacht_, for her part, blazed across the water towards another destroyer. On the bridge, Jordan looked on with glee at the confusion his sudden appearance had caused. "Look out…old Macky is back!" he crowed as the side blades of his command disembowled another destroyer. The one remaining destroyer turned and accelerated to full speed, trying to get away from the sky-blue blade-ship bearing down on it. As it turned, the sky to the side flickered as the _Katana_ decloaked. Running alongside the last destroyer, hatches opened on her sides. Through the hatches emerged six Vulcan miniguns. This was the Minigun Broadside, a modern version of the old broadside of the sailing ship era. Only difference was that these guns could fire 3000 rounds a minute, adding up to a total of 18,000 rounds a minute at full power. On the bridge, Ramius looked at the fleeing destroyer as it tried to maneuver. But the _Katana _could keep pace with near every ship in the sea. The miniguns whirred to life, firing their armour-piercing bullets through the hull of the destroyer. Looking more like a sieve than a warship, the destroyer promptly sank. The sea was clear now. Only the _Katana_, the _Messernacht_, the _Callaghan_ and one lone destroyer vanishing over the horizon remained. The seas calmed.

Out on the _Furhammerler_, Marabdell looked in horror at the smoke rising over the battle. His entire fleet destroyed by _two_ _ships_! He gave his orders to return to Mauanui. Tranous would not be pleased.

The _Messernacht_ and the _Katana _approached the _Callaghan_. Even from a distance, Ramius and Jordan could see that the hospital ship had sustained heavy damage to its upper works. Ramius looked at the _Callaghan_, then turned to the Radio console. "Open a channel". When the radioman nodded, Ramius flipped his microphone down from his hat and spoke. "HMAS _Callaghan_, HMAS _Callaghan_, this is the vessel off your port bow. Are you receiving me, copy?" He repeated this before a voice came over the speaker. "Unidentified vessel, this is Lt Gina Celranigan of the _Callaghan_. To whom am I speaking?"

Ramius grinned. There were survivors. "This is the Dradle Industries warship _Katana_. The ship to your starboard is the _Messernacht_. We heard your Mayday and thought we'd come lend a hand. Do you require further assistance?"

On the _Callaghan_, Lt Celranigan smiled in relief. "Affirmative _Katana_. We could use any damage control personnel you can spare."

The radio crackled as Jordan came on the line. "As long as you've got Bundaberg, my engine room crew will be clamouring to get onboard."

Lt Celranigan laughed. The fear of death had faded. "Inform your crew that this is a _hospital_ ship. No beer here."

"Just as well too." Admiral Bickerson said as the _Dark Trident_ steamed into view. "Greetings Lieutenant. I believe that we and your government are going to have a lot to talk about."

Three hours later, the worst of the damage had been repaired on the _Callaghan_. Lt Celranigan was now in the wardroom of the _Dark Trident_, speaking to the head of the Australian Armed Forces via secure vid-link. She told of how the destroyers had been disguised as freighters fleeing the Mauanui warzone, and how the timely arrival of the Dradle Industries Task Force had saved her ship from certain doom. The head of the AAF, General Lieucourt, listened to her report with a grim look on his face. The report of the loss of one of his cruisers had hit him hard. As Lt Celranigan finished her report, he settled back in his chair. "It appears," he said, "that we owe your organisation a great deal of gratitude Admiral." Admiral Bickerson looked back at the screen. "I'm only sorry we couldn't have arrived sooner," he said dead-pan. "We may have been able to save your cruiser". 

General Lieucourt was silent for a moment. "It is unfortunate." He then sat up straight in his chair. "Moving on, the Australian government has authorised me to approach you with a request for your services."

Admiral Bickerson nodded. "Certainly. What is it you require?"

General Lieucourt withdrew a sheet of paper from the folder in front of him. "The assault on Mauanui has trapped our ambassador on the island, Bruce Featherguill."

On the bottom-left corner of the screen, Margaret's face appeared. "Bruce Featherguill; 57 years of age, currently listed as Australian ambassador to Mauanui. Sending details now." On the top-left of the screen appeared pictures of a man, Bruce Featherguill. At the same time, a fax machine in the corner of the room started to whir as the man's profile came through. Ramius went and retrieved it. According to his profile, Bruce Featherguill was former ASIS, Australian Special Intelligence Service; a spook. A list of his postings included Moscow, Beijing, Beirut, Johannesburg and Damascus. His appointment to Mauanui had been a kind of semi-retirement. Ramius turned to the Admiral. "Looks like this guy might know things that the Australians don't want him to share with the G.A."

General Lieucourt nodded. "Featherguill is one of our top resources. We can't let Global Anarchy get their hands on him. We need you to get him out." The general leaned forwards. "$70,000."

Admiral Bickerson nodded slowly. "Seems fair. We're headed in that direction anyway."

General Lieucourt smiled slighty, then addressed Lt Celranigan. "Lieutenat, your new orders are to tag along and provide assistance where you can."

Lt Celranigan stood to attention. "Yes sir," she barked.

General Leiucourt nodded. "Thank you Admiral, and good luck" The vid-link then terminated.

The Admiral leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. "$70,000 for one man is a little bit steep," he muttered. "Margaret, what else do we have on Mr Featherguill?"

The window containing Margaret's image expanded to fill the screen. "Looking through his file, it appears that he is the step-father of the Australian Prime Minister. That would appear to explain the high price-tag."

The Admiral nodded, turned to Ramius, Jordan and Lt Celranigan. "Right. That's the mission. Now let's move out."

On Mauanui, Tranous stood looking out to sea. Behind him was Lanc Marabdell, on his knees. Behind him stood Jenkirk, who was holding a Desert Eagle .45 handgun to Marabdell's head. Tranous turned and calmly gazed at Marbdell. "Now," he began, "explain to me again. How many ships did you take to destroy the Australians?"

Marabdell whimpered quietly. "Seven sir."

"And how many did you bring back?"

"One sir"

Tranous turned and gazed back out to sea. "And how many ships were you up against when these rescuers arrived?"

Marabdell said nothing. Jenkirk struck him with the Desert Eagle. "Your master asked you a question," he growled.

Marabdell cried out, "ONE!" he collapsed to the ground.

Tranous continued to gaze out the window. "I should order your death," he said, "But I'm not going to."

Jenkirk looked disappointed and holstered the weapon. Marabdell looked up hopefully. Tranous continued to gaze, then in one swift movement, he spun, drew his sword and slid it under Marabdell's chin. "But if you screw up again," he said calmly, "your worthless body will feed the seagulls"

Then, he spun and sheathed the weapon again. "Now go."

Marabdell clawed his way to his feet and ran. When he had gone, Jenkirk turned to face Tranous. "You should have let me kill him," he growled.

"Patience my frined," Tranous said pleasantly. "He will die, just not at your hands." He continued to eye the ocean. "Nevertheless, this group of ships may prove a problem." Finally he turned to Jenkirk.

"Send the Mexican"


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven 

The Dradle Industries fleet, now accompanied by the _Callaghan_, sailed serenely across the water. On the _Katana_, Ramius stood on the starboard wing of the bridge, gazing into the distance. He seemed distant, as if his mind was somewhere else than the here and now. In fact, his mind was 1500 miles away on Mauanui.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Ramius looked to starboard and saw Jordan, about 10 metres away, standing on the port wing of the _Messernacht_ bridge. His voice was carried via radio to the receiver in Ramius's ear. The two ships sailed side by side over the ocean

Ramius smiled. "Nah. Try that pitch somewhere else. I'm not selling." The smile vanished from his face. "I just…" He was silent for a moment. "I wish I had talked to her sooner. I didn't picture it like this. Not like this."

The _Katana_ and _Messernacht_ sailed on, the waves lapping at their sides. Finally, Jordan spoke. "Well, how better to show the girl of you dreams how you feel by saving her from terrorists?"

Ramius laughed. "You never quit, do you?"

Suddenly, the voice of Admiral Bickerson blasted over their earpieces. "Gentlemen, sorry to break the revelry, but we do have a slight issue on our hands. Check your radars"

Ramius glanced to his right and accepted a data slate held by an ensign. On the slate was a repeater of the radar display. Up ahead was clear space. "I can't see anything. What's going on Admiral?"

On the _Dark Trident_, Admiral Bickerson was in his stateroom, a map spread out in front of him. "Check your charts. Look on the bearing of your radar"

Ramius strode through the bridge to a console. A few key-taps brought up a hologram of the area. "Nothing major. Just a small group of islands. Not really impor…" He stopped. While the islands were small, they should reflect at least _some radar back_. He checked the slate again. Nothing.

"There's absolutly nothing there." he murmured.

"Exactly. And what could cause that?"

Ramius thought. Then it hit him. "Electromagnetic planar wave interference," he breathed.

The Admiral leaned back in his chair. "And who do we know whose ships use electromagnetic planar wave interference?"

Ramius didn't say anything. It was Jordan, his voice filled with fury, which said it. "The Mexican."

The Mexican was an ultra-high tech mercenary. His combination of bloodthirsty tactics combined with his state-of-the-art arsenal made him a force to be reckoned with. His success was shown by his possession of his own fleet, a group of three ships. These ships; the _Perdedor_, the _Pensaimiento_ and the _Máquina_ were all armed to the teeth. The Mexican's brother, Pedro, commanded the_ Perdedor_. The _Pensaimiento_ was operated by The Mexican's brother-in-law Carlos. The Mexican himself used the _Máquina_ as his flagship. These three were a major source of trouble in the Pacific. In fact, Jordan had had a close encounter with them a few months before. While hunting drug-runners, Jordan had come across the group ransacking a cruise ship The _Messernacht_ had been heavily damaged in the resulting shoot-out, and the three had gotten away. Boarding the liner, Jordan found many on board dead. All the technological apparatus had been removed from the ship. Since then, Jordan had made it his goal to hunt them down.

The vid-link now showed four screen: Admiral Bickerson from the _Dark Trident_ looking concerned, Jordan from the _Messernacht_ looking furious, Ramius on the _Katana_ looking edgy and Lt. Celranigan from the _Callaghan _looking just plan confused. Jordan spoke. "Admiral, we can't just let these guys get away with their previous crimes. I respectfully request that you let me go on ahead and deal with this bugger." He stopped, smiled slightly. "It's the least I can do after the work-over they gave my ship."

The Admiral gazed at his monitor. "I don't like it," he said. "You don't know how many of them are there."

"Which is why I need to go alone. What are the chances of us happening upon one of those floating outhouses?" Jordan's eyes lit up. "You three bypass the islands. I'll join up with you later."

The Admiral sighed. "Fine. Do what you need to do."

Jordan slammed his fist into his chair. "Fantastic. Right, you three head south. I'll catch up with you later"

The screens winked out. Jordan punched a few keys, then spoke again. "Margaret, you caught all that?"

Back at Dradle Industries Headquarters, Margaret sat at her computer. "I certainly did. What do you require?"

"What's the weather doing in the sector ahead?"

"Stand by." Margaret punched a few keys. 400 miles above the Pacific, a Dradle Industries satellite rotated in space and pointed its cameras and other sensors at the planet far below. Margaret analysed the image. "Looks like a squall is over the area. Anything else?"

Jordan grinned. "Perfect. Cheers Margie."

"Oh, and Jordan?" Margaret said.

"What is it?"

"Two million, seven thousand and forty-six dollars."

"What?"

Margaret smirked. "How much it cost the last time you tried this with The Mexican. That's damage to you _and_ collateral damage"

Back on the _Messernacht_, Jordan laughed. "Christ, you're worse than the Admiral. Just trust me, ok?" With that, he signed off. As he sat, a plan started to form in his mind. He grinned, then turned to the intercom. "Conn, all ahead two thirds. Into the storm."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight 

The _Messernacht_ cruised across the sea, under the cover of early morning. The sun had yet to rise over the eastern horizon, but it was close. Up ahead, the sky was a dark grey, lit by the occasional burst of lightning. As the ship advanced, the waves started to build. Higher. And higher. And higher. Eventually, the waves were towering over the _Messernacht_. On the bridge, Jordan looked on as the waves buried the bow of his vessel in coursing green foam. He then punched a three button combination on his chair. A section of wall flickered, then projected an image of the radar screen. On it moved a clutter of images, the waves creating their own radar signatures. Jordan smiled. While that meant, he couldn't see his target, it also meant that his target couldn't see him. He turned to his bridge crew. "Sonar, anything yet?"

Over in Sonar, a lieutenant sat in front of the console. In front of her, green lines flowed up the screen, a visual impression of the sounds of the ocean. The lieutenant called, "Sir, we have a faint signature. I'm not certain, but it's similar to the signature we recorded back in May." She turned. "I think it's the _Pensaimiento_."

Jordan smiled. "Carlos? This ought to be good." He spun in his chair. "Ladies and gentlemen, fire up the SEMMP." Then he smiled. "Initiate program Foxtrot Echo Four."

The storm was also raging around the _Pensaimiento_. The ship was rolling in the waves. On board, Carlos was also looking at his radar display. He too could only see the intermittent signature of the waves. He barked, "Any sign of the targets?"

"No sir," called a crewman. "No sign of the fleet."

Carlos muttered under his breath. He glanced out the bridge windows. "At least this _sangriento_ storm is passing." He was right. The waves, while still massive, were falling in power. This was also shown by a cry from Radar. "Contact bearing two-five-zero! Moving at zeron-niner knots, heading right for us!"

"On screen," barked Carlos. The forward screen flickered, then an image appeared. At first, there was only spray, before a ship appeared.

Carlos's eyes narrowed. "That," he said, "is the most dilapidated piece of _mierda_ I have ever seen."

The image on screen was an old fishing trawler. Rust coated the side of the boat as she rolled and wallowed in the high seas. Her decks were abandoned, her nets stowed. Painted in fading blue paint on her sides was the name _Ente_. Carlos smirked. While they waited for the Dradle Industries fleet, this would make a great appetiser. "Close with the trawler."

Ten minutes later, the _Pensaimiento_ was approaching the helpless trawler. Like a cat creeping alongside a helpless mouse, she materialised out of the early-morning light and drew alongside the _Ente_. As the _Pensaimiento_ came alongside, a figure stepped out of the wheelhouse of the trawler. Dressed in yellow wet-weather gear, black gumboots, with a woollen hat pulled tight over his head, the elderly captain of the _Ente_ looked in fear at the guns of the _Pensaimiento_ that seemed to be pointed right at his head. He raised his arms. "Don't shoot. For the love of God, please don't shoot!"

Carlos picked up a loudhailer. "Attention vessel. Shut down your engines or we will open fire!"

The captain of the _Ente_ panicked. He leapt back into the wheelhouse. Seconds later, the _Ente_ started to accelerate. Carlos watched with interest. While a brave move, the little trawler couldn't possibly escape. "Fire a shot across their bow."

On the bow of the _Pensaimiento_, a cannon started to track the fleeing trawler. Then, with a roar, the cannon fired. Simultaneously, a _burst of fire_ shot out of the side of the _Ente_. The little ship that had tried so hard to run came to a stop, settled quickly and sank below the waves. None got out.

Back on the _Pensaimiento_, Carlos looked on in surprise. Then, anger flooded his features. "What part of _warning shot_ do you _putas_ not understand?" he roared. He spun to face the gun crew, who were just as surprised as he was. As such, he completely missed a small puff of smoke that emerged from the ocean in front of the _Pensaimiento_. He didn't miss the immense explosion that ripped the sea apart to port though. He spun back to look forward, just as the _Messernacht_ bounded out from beneath the surface. As she did so, Carlos noted two things. Firstly, the mortar poking out from the deck; deployed, targeted and about to fire its second shot of the engagement. The second thing was the spires atop the bridge of the _Messernacht_. Indeed, all he caught was a glimpse as the spires, their task of _projecting the image of a trawler over the Messernacht_ complete, retracted to protect them from the fire that was sure to be coming. Carlos turned and screamed, "Don't just sit there, FIRE!"

The _Messernacht_ turned to port, the sea behind her welling up from the thrust of her SeaTurbine hydro-jets. As she did so, the _Pensaimiento_ began her own turn, arcing away to starboard, heading away from the _Messernacht_. Eventually, both ships were heading in the same direction, a nautical mile apart, travelling at about 30 knots through the heaving seas. On the _Messernacht_, the mortar trained itself on the _Pensaimiento_. In turn, the heavy cannon on the front of the _Pensaimiento_ whined into position. Then, with a thunderous roar, it fired. The shell arced in front of the _Messernacht_, exploding with a boom that sent a rush of spray into the air. The shell had packed one hell of a punch. But now it was the turn of the _Messernacht_. With a blast of pure power, the mortar fired a round right at the _Pensaimiento_. The shot was right on target, screaming through the _Pensaimiento_'s radar mast, which with the screech of tearing metal fell over the side like a tree. The _Pensaimiento_ turned to starboard. The _Messernacht_ altered to port. The two ships crossed in front of eachother, their wakes forming a foaming X in the ocean. As they crossed, the _Pensaimiento_'s rear machine guns strafed the front of the _Messernacht_. Not to be outdone, Jordan's command brought its twin Vulcan miniguns out of their silo. Each then unleashed their 3000 round per minute river of tungsten-tipped penetrator rounds into the helicopter hanger of the _Pensaimiento._ Every fifth round fired by both ships was a tracer, and the rate of fire was so fierce that at points it looked like the ships were linked by threads of light. Then the range increased to outside machine gun range. The _Messernacht_ returned to her original course, but the _Pensaimiento_ kept turning, increasing the range to 5 miles. The result of this was that the _Pensaimiento_ could bring her hidden weapons to bear. As the next cannon round was fired, a hatch opened in the side of the ship, and a SS-N-22 'Sunburn' anti-ship missile roared out of its silo on a pillar of flame.

Jordan watched as the missile and shell fired. The _Messernacht_'s sophisticated radar system plotted the flight path of each round on the HUD projected on the bridge armoured windshields. While the shell looked to be headed for the rear half of the ship, the SS-N-22 was headed for the bridge. Jordan made his choice. "Intercept the missile. Launch interceptor."

As the two incoming rounds whistled closer, a silo door flipped open on the _Messernacht'_s forward deck. With a _thump_, an Augmented Sea Wolf Missile was cold-launched from its silo. Then, with a blinding flash, the rocket engine fired, and the missile arced towards the incoming ship-killer. Seconds later, a blue-white flash signified the meeting of the two missiles. Simultaneously, the track of the 'Sunburn' disappeared from the HUD. But there was still the shell to deal with. As it came close, the _Messernacht_ turned broadside to it, presenting a smaller length for the shell to fall upon. The shell rocketed into the lightly armoured rear end of the _Messernacht_'s superstructure. This area had been added recently, and had not yet been fully armoured. Thus, the shell didn't detonated upon impact with the thin walls. It _did_ detonate however, when it hit the solid pressure hull of Jordan's submersible, the _Gabel_. The detonation shook the _Messernacht_, and blew the entire section off the ship. Among the wreckage were small pieces of the _Gabel_. Really small pieces. In the meantime, those protected in the armoured section got to enjoy the spectacle of the bulkhead _doming_ _in_ from the explosion.

On the _Pensaimiento_, a cheer had greeted the impact of the shell, but had quickly died as the _Messernacht_ continued on as if nothing had happened. Carlos was stunned. Normally, the shells fired by his cannon could destroy a ship, but this had been different. With the interception of the missile, he began to doubt if he could actually sink this foe. He spun. "Retreat."

On the _Messernacht_, Jordan watched with interest as the _Pensaimiento_ began to turn and accelerated. "Carlos, Carlos, Carlos," he muttered. "Don't start what you can't finish." He clicked his fingers. "I think it's time we tested the Gaseado." The gun crews quickly computed the weapons path to target and fired. A hatch at the bow of the _Messernacht_ flipped open, and a long blue shape shot out into the ocean. This was a Gaseado, a torpedo in every way but one. As it closed with the _Pensaimiento_, sonar techs aboard the vessel noticed it. Carlos immediately gave orders for full speed. The _Pensaimiento_ leapt forwards. Not fast enough. With a _cluck_, the Gaseado hit the _Pensaimiento_ and clung to the underside of its hull. Next, a drill extended into the hull, drilling until it penetrated through into the room above it; the engine room. At the sound of the drilling, the engine crew had evacuated. Next, through the hole, the Gaseado pumped liquid hydrogen rocket fuel into the room. Upon hitting the atmosphere, the hydrogen vaporised into gas form, which proceeded to spread through the ship via the air circulation system. This was where the Gaseado differed from a normal torpedo; the warhead didn't explode on contact, but allowed a chance for the target to surrender. In less than five minutes, the gas had found its way to the surface of the ship. The _Pensaimiento_ was now a giant fuel-air bomb; all she needed was a spark.

The _Messernacht_, her SeaTurbines screaming, pulled level with the _Pensaimiento_. On board, a sailor glanced at his screen as a light illuminated. "Sir," he called, "Gas Spectrometer shows that the hydrogen has reached the deck of the _Pensaimiento_."

"Very well," said Jordan. "Open a channel." Seconds later, the face of Carlos appeared on the forward screen.

"Hello Carlos," Jordan beamed. "Lost weight I see."

Carlos was a figure of rage. "You have messed with our affairs for the last time, you capitalist pig! Prepare to die!"

Jordan looked Carlos in the eye. "Trust me, firing that cannon would be a _really_ bad idea right now."

Carlos started to laugh. "Afraid of your death, little man? Well prepare to face it!" Carlos's image vanished.

Jordan stood in silence. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He turned to the window.

On the _Pensaimiento_, Carlos walked up to gun-control. "Load an armour-piercer. Aim for the bridge." When the gun crew signalled they were ready, Carlos reached over. With one final grin, he pressed the button.

With a roar, the cannon on the _Pensaimiento_ fired. The shell blazed through the air, heading for the _Messernacht_. As the shell neared the ship, it skimmed off the surface of the sea. As it did so, the _Messernacht_ slid to the side, its power-steering system coming into play. The shell sailed over the vessel. This however was not as spectacular as what happened to the _Pensaimiento_. When the cannon fired, a long tongue of flame blasted from its barrel. Fire plus hydrogen equals boom. In a heartbeat, the hydrogen ignited and followed the trail down to the engine room; the sealed engine room that held the most flammable atmosphere in the ship. With a _boom_ that sounded like it had been torn from the Earth itself, the stern of the _Pensaimiento_ proceeded to blow itself _clean off the ship_. The stern shot away as the ship split in two. The stern sank quickly. The bow erupted in a column of flame that reached into the sky like a fireball. Then, the bow too sank beneath the waves. As the sea subsided, survivors could be seen flailing in the water. The _Messernacht_ cruised alongside. At the command of Ramius, a life raft was fired over side. Jordan watched as the survivors climbed in. None looked like Carlos.

"Radio the UN. Give them our position. Tell them that the _Pensaimiento_ has…gone to a better place." He turned back to the window. All the survivors were now aboard the raft. "Set a course back to the fleet," he ordered.

As the _Messernacht_ sailed over the horizon, a loud rock piece began blasting over the ships sophisticated speaker system. The song; Queen's Another One Bites The Dust.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine 

Scott Tranous stood in the Presidential Palace on Mauanui. On his left stood the ever-present form of Jenkirk. To his right however stood another form. Short and brooding, with a fully shaven head and an eye patch over his left eye, this was the Mexican. He gazed out towards the harbour, where the _Máquina_ was at anchor. He still didn't move when Tranous spoke.

"Your vessel was incompetent."

The Mexican sighed. "Si senor."

"I can only hope that you and your brother are not so foolish."

"Si. We will be better prepared next time."

Tranous turned. "Now go out and prepare."

The Mexican donned his hat and left. Jenkirk watched him go. "So what is your next move Master?" he said.

Tranous smiled. "The Dradle Industries fleet has annoyed us for the last time." He turned to the window. "I have just heard," he said conversationally, "that our technicians have just finished assembly of the missiles. However, we need to calibrate them before we can act." He turned back to his comrade. "Fire a plasma warhead at them."

At the cave, Lisa stepped outside for some air. The cave had become cramped with the refugees inside. The stench of so many unwashed people in such a small space was nearly overpowering. She walked up the mountain until she found a tall pine tree. Sitting down, she gazed out over the island of Mauanui. Many of the fires were out, but the whole island seemed darker all the same.

As she sat there, she heard a figure approach. Looking back, she saw Bruce Featherguill approaching.

"Good morning Bruce," she said.

"Morning Lisa."

Bruce came up and sat down. They both gazed out over the island. After a moment, Lisa spoke. "Why?"

Bruce looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean why attack here? What's so special about Mauanui? Why take these islands?"

Bruce looked in silence. Then he turned. Spotted something. "Look over there."

Lisa turned and followed Bruce's gaze. On a nearby mountain, long thin structures had been erected. In fact, they looked a lot like…

"Missiles. Inter-Continental Ballistic Missiles. Damnit. Why didn't I see it before?" Bruce snarled.

Lis was shocked. "What? Why would Global Anarchy bring ICBMs here?"

"Have you noticed the positioning of Mauanui on the map?"

Lisa shook her head. "Not the exact details. I mean, I know the basics; mid-Pacific and such. Why?"

Bruce looked grim. "The Mauanui island chain is situated right on the equator. This means that any orbital payloads get more of a boost. This means that missiles like those ones, even with their shortened range due to their construction, can reach basically anywhere on the globe. Which means…"

Lisa got it. A terrorist group had global reach. Anywhere on the planet was in range. The world was at their mercy.

Suddenly, the ground shook. Smoke enveloped the far mountain. Then, out of the billowing haze, a pencil-thin shape rocketed straight up on a column of flame. Arcing west, it vanished into the clouds.

"Where do you think it's headed?" Lisa whispered.

Bruce grimaced. "Not sure, but whoever's under it better know how to duck."

Reunited, the fleet sailed across a picture-perfect scene. The _Katana_ was in the lead, with the _Messernacht_ on her port side about 500 yards back. To starboard and back 700 yards, the _Dark Trident_ cleaved the waters apart. Beside her, the _Callaghan_ gamely wallowed on. The skies were clear, the ocean calm. All made the klaxon that sounded aboard the Dradle Industries ships all the more urgent.

Ramius burst onto the bridge of the _Katana_. "Status report," he barked.

One of the Radar crew answered. "Sir, launch detection satellite Dradalus Four saw a launch signature coming out of Mauanui. It's heading west."

Jordan burst in on the comm-net. "Well gee, I wonder who THAT's aimed at?"

Ramius grinned, "Duuuuuuh, us?"

"Someone give that boy a cookie."

Finally, the Admiral spoke up. "Margaret, can you tell us anything about the missile?"

Back at HQ, Margaret continued to type. She stopped to push her glasses up her nose, then she glanced at the screen. "Sir, Dradalus Four reports it to be a French Marteau. Aligning warhead scan now."

High above, the Dradalus Four recon satellite tracked the missile as it soared through the upper atmosphere. As it did so, scanners analysed the warhead. Every warhead, be it explosive, nuclear, chemical or otherwise, left a distinctive spectrographic trail. As the satellite tracked, it relayed its data to the Dradle Industries Headquarters supercomputers, which pieced together the data, which told that the warhead was…

"Sir, looks like a Sansaxo plasma warhead," Margaret said.

On the _Dark Trident_, Admiral Bickerson swore. The Sansaxo plasma warhead was notoriously hard to shoot down, thanks to a new AI system that guided it to its target with pinpoint accuracy. It was said that while standard precision weapons could pick which window pane to go through the Sansaxo could hit the ant that was wandering across said pane. He turned to his crew. "Ladies and gentlemen, looks like we're gonna have to take this one." He turned back to the viewscreen. "Right. Ramius, Jordan, Lieutenant, I'm going to use a Doorstop. It's the only thing we have that can take this bugger down. Agree?"

Ramius thought over the Admiral's plan. The DI-X1 Doorstop was the latest in high-tech UAV's (Unmanned Autonomous Vehicle). The technology was brand new. No operational test had been carried out. The bugs had not been fixed. And yet, it was the only thing in their combined arsenals that stood a chance of taking down a plasma warhead. He nodded. "Go for it"

Jordan also agreed. "Take the shot sir." Then, "If you miss, you owe me a new sub."

The Admiral smiled briefly. If he missed, then they, their ships and about 5 square kilometres of water would not be destroyed, but vaporised. He pushed the image from his mind. "Jordan, I've been doing this since the days when we aimed our guns by dead-eye and good luck." He smiled, and then addressed the crew of the _Dark Trident_.

"Ladies and gentlemen. The time has come again for the _Dark Trident_ to prove that she too can take on the best that the enemy can throw at her. While this test shall be one of immense importance, I firmly believe that this crew has what it takes. The order is, prepare to fire Doorstop."

On the deck of the _Dark Trident_, a hatch slid back, revealing a dark hole. From this hole emerged two steel, railway-like tracks. The tracks extended three metres, then locked into position. It was then that it appeared. A short, squat black shape, no larger than a remote control car, ratcheted forward and locked into position between the rails. This was Doorstop, the super-fast, super-sleek, _super-cool_ high altitude interceptor fresh from the Dradle Industries laboratories. Sheathed in titanium-beryllium armour, she could reach speeds exceeding Mach 5 without breaking a mechanical sweat. What was key to the Doorstop design was a lack of explosive warhead; the kinetic energy of the vehicle intercepting its target at high-Mach speeds would blast its target to metal fillings. The vehicle could then be retrieved and reused. Equipped with the latest in AI technology, the Doorstop could analyse its target and predict its movements almost before the target could make them. This made the Doorstop one of the only devices in the world that could take down a Sansaxo plasma warhead.

On the bridge, Admiral Bickerson gazed calmly as his crew went through the firing procedure of the Doorstop.

"Sir, the Sansaxo has re-entered the atmosphere. We can engaged at any time, but would recommend it be in the next 5 minutes."

The Admiral straightened. "Right. Stabilisation?"

"Big T is within parameters. Go for firing."

"Radar?"

"Solid lock on target. Ready to track Doorstop and provide data. Ready."

"Fire Control?"

"Go."

"Deck Coolant?"

"Ready."

"Doorstop Main Control?"

"Locked and ready to rumble sir."

Admiral Bickerson smiled. "Right. On my command. 3..."

The rear thrusters of the Doorstop began to emit steam as the fuels inside mixed. A blast plate slid into position to deflect the thrust away from the vehicle.

"2..."

Roll stabilisation fins on the _Dark Trident_ slammed into position. The Big T was now a stable platform.

"1..."

On the deck, high-pressure jets began to douse the deck in seawater, protecting the plates for the apocalypse that was about to come.

"0.."

The rear thruster erupted in white-hot flame. Clouds of steam erupted as the water instantly flash-boiled away.

"Fire."

The blast plate, glowing red from the immense heat being slammed into it, was beginning to melt as the clamps that held the Doorstop in position released. Freed, the Doorstop rocketed skywards, climbing like the proverbial bat out of hell.

From the _Katana_, Ramius watched as the Doorstop screamed upwards, riding a trail of fire an easy 200 feet long. The vehicle climbed at a phenomenal rate, accelerating until it blazed across the sky at Mach 7. At 50,000 feet, the tracking arrays on the sides lit up and scanned for targets. Directly ahead, with a thermal signature rivalling that of the sun, was the Sansaxo warhead.

On the _Dark Trident_, the Admiral stood in silence. The sophisticated radar on his command tracked the two vehicles as they approached each other at blistering speed.

"Sir," called a crewman, "Doorstop AI has taken control. Intercept in fifteen seconds."

High above, the Doorstop closed with its target. The Sansaxo, for its part, had started jinking and jiving all over the sky. As it did, the Doorstop would correct its course. The two vehicles blazed towards each other. Finally, the Sansaxo grew to immense size in the Doorstops detection arrays and the rocket thrusters ignited for one last boost. A boost that took the Doorstop past the Sansaxo. Clean miss.

Down below, the Admiral stood stock still when he heard the news. "Sir, Doorstop has missed. Repeat, Doorstop has missed. Sansaxo warhead is now 5 minutes from impact" He stood, and then turned to the view screen. "I trust you all heard?"

Jordan, Ramius and Lt. Celranigan sat, accepting the news that their only chance had missed, and that a fiery demise was now on the table. Finally, Jordan broke the silence. "You owe me a sub Admiral."

"Do we have anything else in the arsenal that could possibly take down this missile?" Ramius asked.

"The Doorstop was our only shot, and we only have one. No way it can catch up in the time we have," the Admiral muttered. Then he addressed Celranigan. "Lieutenant, I apologise. It seems we saved you from one threat to only lose with another."

On board the _Callaghan_, Lt. Celranigan grimace. "Sir, with your technology, you might be able to run. I've seen the speed of your ships. Go. Leave us here. Get the ambassador."

The Admiral stood. "No guarantee we could get out in time. That said, we either all get out or none of us. Sorry, can't let you become a martyr." Celranigan smiled. "No apology needed Admiral. All I can say is thank you for trying."

The Admiral nodded, then spoke again. "Jordan, Ramius. It has been an honour to serve with you both." He saluted them both.

Ramius and Jordan returned the salute. "You too sir," Ramius said.

"Likewise," followed Jordan.

The Admiral smiled. "See you on the other side gentlemen." The vid screen went dark.

"Four minutes to impact."

On the _Dark Trident_, Admiral Bickerson turned and gave an order. "On my command, initiate Emergency Procedure Zero-One Charlie. Authorisation Cherokee Four-Two-Niner." All over the _Dark Trident_, panels slid open, revealing shot glasses and bottles of Scotch. The Admiral filled his glass and addressed his crew. "Ladies and gentlemen, a toast to the _Dark Trident_. Long may she be remembered."

"Three minutes to impact."

On the _Messernacht_, Jordan sat in his chair. Then he entered a code into the armrest. A panel opened in the floor, and his trombone rose up from the floor. Jordan stood, picked up the trombone, tuned it. Then, as the ships stereo came to life, he played Glenn Miller's 'On Green Dolphin Street'.

"Two minutes to impact."

On the _Callaghan_, Lt. Gina Celranigan sat in her wardroom. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her wallet. Flipping it open, she gazed at the picture of her family that it contained.

"One minute to impact."

Finally, on the _Katana_, Ramius gazed out the windscreen of the bridge. After all this effort, he just hadn't been able to get Lisa. She would never know how he felt. He turned, and in doing so, his eyes fell upon the radar screen. On it was the signatures of the _Dark Trident_, the _Messernacht_, the incoming Sansaxo warhead and, in the distance, the Doorstop was starting to fall. Instinctively, he checked to see where the vehicle would fall, and in doing so, he noticed a small signature, no larger than a rowboat, on the same bearing as the Doorstop. His heart leapt, then he leapt to Radio. "Broadcast an order! Tell the Admiral and Jordan to extend their EPF's!" He punched a button, then grabbed a radio handset and started barking orders into it. To an untrained ear, the vowels he was uttering were illegible, but to those who knew it, one could tell he was speaking in…

The Sansaxo warhead raced through the sky. Its internal scanners reported that it had arrived at the target co-ordinates, whilst its onboard radar reported ships below. Seeing this, at 4005 feet, the Sansaxo plasma warhead initiated detonation sequence. A small pellet of uranium was fired down the warhead, slamming into another pellet from the opposite direction. The two particle were then assaulted by laser emitters in the cylindrical warhead. The pressure increased to immense proportions, fusing the particles together, the breaking them apart. The resulting pulse of energy turned the warhead and the cubic kilometre of sky and ocean around it into fiery plasma. Then, it was over.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

It was time.

At the Presidential palace on Mauanui, a television studio had been set up. Television cameras, digital cameras and lights were all pointed at a podium set up in front of wall-to-wall windows looking over the island. On the dais was set multiple microphones. Outside, the sun was blazing, the air was warm and there was not a cloud in the sky. This was the place where Scott Tranous would broadcast the message of Global Anarchy to the world.

On the mountain, it was also time. A week had passed since Lisa had received word from Ramius to turn her phone off. Now, she wandered to the cliff overlooking the island and turned the phone on. There, she waited. Waited for Ramius to contact her.

After three hours, she heard someone approach. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Bruce, his face sheened in sweat from the climb, staggering out the mountain. He slumped down beside her. "Don't remember this being so difficult," he panted. "Any word?"

"None," Lisa said. "He said to turn my phone on in a week. Now there's nothing." She was silent. "I'm going to call."

Bruce straightened his back, turned serious. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

Lisa thought it over. "Yes," she said as she dialled. Then she put the phone to her ear.

Down at the airfield, a G.A radio technician pressed his headset to his head. Then, he scribbled on a piece of paper, tore it off the pad and handed it to his superior, a young commander. "Outgoing call detected from the mountains sir." The Commander smiled, and then picked up a phone.

Up at the Presidential palace, Jenkirk answered the call. "This had better be worth my time," he growled.

The young officer gulped, knowing that his reputation, indeed his life, was on the line. "Sir, we have just located a out-going cell-phone call from the mountains. It appears that we have some stragglers still out there."

Jenkirk was silent. On the other end of the connection, the commander held his breath.

"Very good commander," Jenkirk said. "I'll speak to the master" he hung up, and then walked down a corridor. Reaching the Presidential master bedroom, he knocked on the door.

"Enter"

Jenkirk opened the door and walked in. Scott Tranous stood by the window, again staring out to sea. He was dressed in a magnificent black tuxedo, with a grey shirt and tie. In his coat pocket, he kept a pocket-watch. He turned to his second-in-command. "What is it my friend?"

"Sir, your radio technicians have detected a cell-phone in the mountains to the north. What do you wish to do?"

Tranous thought it over. "Send a force of commandos. Bring the person to me, plus anyone else." He paused. "Go with them."

"As you wish," Jenkirk said as he bowed deeply and moved for the door.

"Jenkirk?"

He stopped at the door. Tranous looked him directly in the eye. "Keep an eye on the troops. Remember, I want survivors."

On the cliff, Lisa was confused. Lowering her phone, she stared at it.

"What's the matter?" Bruce said.

"I don't understand it," Lisa whispered. "The number. It isn't connected. What could cause that?"

Suddenly, from down the mountain, there came a shout. From below, one of the refugees charged up towards Lisa and Bruce, babbling in the fast tongue of an excited native. "Radio! Radio!" he shouted. Bruce and Lisa raced down the mountainside, towards the cave.

Down below, Scott Tranous walked into the main Presidential office and took his place on the podium, He looked directly into the cameras. All around the world, on CNN, BBC, Sky News, every television, every radio, the planet would hear his voice. He calmly began.

"Many of you think I'm mad. A few think I am brilliant. I am only a man, seeking the way forward for my people, my species.

You all know who I am. Therefore we shall avoid the pleasantries. For years I have watched the antics of mankind, the inhumanity of it all. The people following a few who managed to somehow claw their way to the surface by lying, cheating and crushing those below. This I can not allow to continue."

On the mountain, Lisa, Bruce and the refugees gathered around the radio, listening as Tranous made his broadcast. Lisa looked up, and noticed Bruce doing the same.

"On the islands of Mauanui, I have brought along 20 ICBMs. Each and every one is armed with a Sansaxo plasma warhead. Now, as your leaders should have determined by now, I have the capability to target any city I want. Thus my demands are simple.

The governments of each country on the planet must step down. Turn your power to the people. Then, the next phase of humankind can begin. You have 48 hours. If not, I will remove a city from the surface of the earth every four hours until you do."

"Now, some nations may have been planning to attack me here, in my island paradise." Tranous smiled. "A fleet of ships were heading in this direction to try to eliminate me. These ships attacked my own vessels. As such, I dealt with the Dradle Industries Task Force. Turns out even they can not stop a Sansaxo."

At the cave, Lisa fell to the floor. "Ramius," she whispered. "No."

"Such is my message. You have 48 hours. Thank you, and farewell." The cameras cut out, and the technicians in the room started to applaud. As he gazed about the room, Scott Tranous' face was split in a beaming smile.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

On the mountain, the refugees had moved away from the radio. Some had moved deeper into the cave, others had gone to find more food. Still more had gone outside to watch the black storm clouds sweeping in from the west.

In the cave, Lisa was still on the floor. Bruce was beside her. "Are you sure that your friend was on board?" he questioned her.

"I'm certain," Lisa muttered. "It explains everything. The absences, the eyes. Everything." She turned and gazed at Bruce. "Now I can never tell him. Tell him the way I…"

Gunfire.

Lisa and Bruce snapped around. At the mouth of the cave, there came a scream. They looked down the mountain. There, in a clearing, troops were pouring out of trucks. Trucks with the Global Anarchy logo on the sides.

"Run." Bruce whispered. Then he turned to the refugees. "RUN!"

The refugees dashed in all directions. Lisa turned to Bruce, who was staring at the troops.

"Go," he said. "I'll distract them"

"But…" Lisa began.

"But nothing!" Bruce snapped. There was something in his eyes now, a steely determination. "Go!"

Lisa took one final look, then began to run.

Up above, watching as the civilians ran, Jenkirk circled in his Apache Longbow. Zooming in with the helicopters sophisticated camera gear, he saw the brief image of Bruce Featherguill dashing towards the trucks. "You've got what looks like a high rating civilian heading in your direction," he radioed. "Take him alive." He smiled. "Team Two, begin your attack."

Down below, Lisa stumbled up the mountain. She staggered, tripped, clawed her way to her feet and stumbled on. The sounds of gunfire were beginning to fade. She slowed down, then stopped. As she looked about, she realised that she was now near the top of the mountain, near the treeless summit. Looking down, she saw the trucks below. As she stood there, she heard the sounds of rotor-blades. Looking to the sky, she saw a Puma transport helicopter heading for her. The Puma slid sideways, and landed on the top of the mountain. As the troops inside disembarked and charged down the mountain, Lisa ran down, back the way she had come.

Jenkirk landed in the clearing by the trucks and climbed out of the Longbow. He strolled across to where a man in combat fatigues was giving orders. General Santos Templicto was one of Global Anarchy's greatest military minds. A pro in planning and executing his plans on the battlefield, they didn't get much better than him. He looked up. "My troops report refugees fanning out in all directions," he said. "How many do you want to capture?"

Jenkirk thought it over. "Take twenty or so," he said thoughtfully. "Let the rest meet some kind of…accident."

Lisa sprinted down the mountain, trying to escape the troops that were now filling down from the summit. As she went, she heard short bursts of gunfire. She couldn't see. Then, she burst into a clearing. She was back at the cave. Now though, there was no one left. She looked about her, panicking, not noticing the shrub that was creeping towards her. Suddenly, the shrub leapt up and grabbed her from behind. Lisa struggled against the grip of the soldier, but he was too strong. Suddenly, she lashed out backwards. The terrorist stumbled and fell. Lisa spun looking for a way out. The last thing she saw was a rifle butt striking her in the face. Then, all went black.

Jenkirk stood by General Templicto, watching as the prisoners were loaded aboard the trucks. Some were conscious, others weren't. As they watched, a sergeant approached them, holding a wallet. "Sirs. We found this on one of the men." General Templicto took the wallet, opened it, smiled, then passed it to Jenkirk. "The Australian ambassador no less."

Jenkirk smiled too. "The master will be pleased." He turned and walked back to his Longbow. The General turned to his troops. "Gentlemen, well done," he barked. "Take them to Quanflict Prison."

Lisa shook off the black haze. Beneath her, the truck bobbed and swayed as it rode over poorly-maintained ground. She looked slowly about her. In the dim light, she saw Bruce, his head bleeding from some kind of injury. Then, she lost her grip on consciousness, and the void reclaimed her.

The convoy of trucks continued along the road. As the storm-clouds arrived and rain began to fall, the convoy arrived at a squat, grey complex. The heavy steel doors opened, allowing the trucks inside. Then, with an ominous thud, the doors of Quanflict Prison slid shut.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The storm built quickly. The rain fell in near sheets and frequent blasts of lightning lit the skies. The sea was whipped into frenzy. This was weather that no self-respecting boatie would be out in.

Lanc Marabdell stood on the bridge of the _Furhammerler_, swaying with the movement of his vessel. While built solid, his ship had not been built to take this much of a beating. Still, he had to finish his patrol route before returning to port and a safe anchorage. Stumbling, he made his way to Radar. "See anything?"

The radar technician looked up, his face lit green in the back-glow of his console. "This storm is playing absolute hell with the scanners sir," he said. "Targets appearing and disappearing all the time."

"But none that seem to be moving towards us or the island?"

"None sir."

Marabdell straightened. "Good enough." He staggered back to the bridge

and picked up the intercom. "Send a message to base. No targets sighted. Returning to port." Then, he turned to the bridge crew. "Make your course 105 degrees. All ahead 2/3. Let's go home."

The _Furhammerler_ staggered into a starboard turn. Shoved by the waves, she began to head back to base. As she did so, a pair of eyes watched her from a distance. To be precise, they watched from a gathering of ships in a bay on another island. A gathering that included the _Dark Trident_, the _Katana_ and the _Messernacht_.

As the Sansaxo had fallen towards the Dradle Industries Task Force, it had in fact fallen towards _five_ ships. The _Dark Trident_, the _Katana_ and the _Messernacht_, with the _Callaghan_ between them of course. The _fifth_ ship had arrived just prior to detonation. This was the ship that Ramius had spoken to. The ship that had, in response, raised an antenna and pointed it at the fleet. The ship that had emitted what could only be described as a bolt of lightning that was absorbed by the Dradle Industries ship's extended Electromagnetic Propagation Fins. From the fins now emitted a positively-charged electromagnetic pulse, vented straight towards the incoming Sansaxo. When the warhead detonated, the plasma spread. Plasma that was _also positively charged_. When the two met, they repulsed. The result was a electro-magnetic bubble, protecting the Dradle Industries fleet from the apocalypse around them. When the plasma expired, the ships sailed on through the billowing steam; the _Dark Trident_, _Katana_, _Messernacht_, _Callaghan_. And the ship that had saved them all, the pride of the Russian navy, the StealthKirov-class battle cruiser _Oxothor_.

The captains of the now five strong fleet were now gathered in the wardroom of the _Dark Trident_. Ramius, Jordan, Admiral Bickerson, Lt. Celranigen and the captain of the _Oxother_, Commander Gregory Gargavich.

Ramius stood. "Right. This storm is the optimal time to launch our attack. What have we got?"

At this point, the image of Margaret appeared on the screen above them. "Ramius, we may have a problem," she said. "Satellite recon shows nothing on the mountain that Lisa was on."

"What? So where is she?"

"Stand by." Margaret called up images of the past few hours from the Dradle Industries database. Suddenly, she stopped. "At approximately 1300 hours yesterday, a large number of G.A troops stormed the mountain. Checking images now." She scanned forward step by step, until she came across an image of the trucks. "Hang on. I'll zoom in." the image expanded, cleared, and there was Lisa, out cold, being manhandled into the back of a truck.

Ramius clenched his fists in anger. "Dammit. They've got her."

Admiral Bickerson spoke. "Margaret. Step the image back about 30 frames." Margaret did so, and when the image cleared again, the assembled skippers could see a tall man with a moustache and a head-wound. "That," said the Admiral, "looks like our target."

"Bruce Featherguill," muttered Lt. Celranigan.

While this was going on, Jordan sat quietly, polishing his trombone mouthpiece. Now, he spoke. "Margie, zoom out and see where the trucks go, eh?"

The image began to move, fast-forwarded by a factor of 4. The trucks scooted across the landscape, before vanishing into a concrete structure. Quanflict Prison.

The group gazed at the image of the armoured grey complex. "That," Jordan said, "is gonna be one hell of a tough nut to crack. The Aussies paying us enough to get this guy out?"

"Even if they aren't," Ramius muttered, "Lisa's in there. We gotta get her out."

Margaret broke in. "Ramius, the problem is that we don't have anything that can go that far inland and retrieve them. The mountain would have been easy. This is a full-blown assault we're looking at."

The group fell into a disappointed silence. All except for one. Gargavich coughed once.

"By orders of the Russian High Command, I've been instructed to aid you in any way I can. So said, I may have a little something that can, as the Americans say, 'bail you out'?"

Thirty minutes later, Jordan, Admiral Bickerson and Ramius stood in the hold of the _Oxother_, looking at the means to get their two targets out. Each had a smile on their face. They liked what they saw.

The storm was starting to subside. The sea was still wild though, with surges washing far up the beaches of Mauanui. When the waves broke, the luminescent green foam washed and surged across the white beaches. But there was nothing on the beach to watch. As such, when the dark mass burst out of the ocean, no-one saw it. The massive object rolled out of the surf and staggered over the high tide mark, water cascading off it sides, taking the silt from its journey across the seabed with it. This was a Sub-surface Landing Craft, one of the Russians advances in amphibious landings. Bulky to the extreme and built to last, NATO referred to these gigantic vehicles as Leviathans. It rolled over the ravaged beach like a bowling ball over ice, no resistance at all. It came to a halt. At the front of the vehicle, a large hatch opened and a ramp lowered. Down the ramp came three vehicles; a Porsche 911, a Ferrari F430 and a Jaguar XKR. The three vehicles came to a stop. The Leviathan, for its part, retracted the ramp, closed the hatch and rumbled back into the sea. The three sports cars formed up into a column and, engines revving, dashed up the highway into the distance.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Quanflict Prison.

A dark, drab place, this complex had stood since the Cold War. Updated and expanded, this was the maximum security prison where the scum of Mauanui was held, interrogated and executed. It was also where Global Anarchy kept its prisoners.

Lisa woke as cold water was slashed on her face. Coming around, her vision blurred. She saw a blob in front of her, a olive-green blob, and heard a murmuring. Suddenly, her senses snapped back in and she took notice of where she was. Bound to a metal frame chair, she was seated in front of a desk opposite sat a man dressed in military uniform. A black beret in his head and a red G.A. patch on his shoulder, Haram Garlando was the newly instated warden of Quanflict Prison. Mean, tough and sadistic as hell, he took great pleasure in interrogating his prisoners. As he did now.

"Ah. So you're awake."

Lisa sat up in her chair. "Why are you holding me? I am a New Zealand citizen and I demand that you…"

Abruptly, Garlando leaned forward and slapped her. Stunned, Lisa shut up.

Garlando sat back in his chair and opened a folder in front of him. "Now, while you may be a New Zealand citizen, you are now our…guest."

Lisa sat in silence, a trickle of blood oozing from her lip. All she did was glare at Garlando. For his part, he sat there, a slight smile on his face, as if amused at this girl attempting to stare him down. Then, he spoke again.

"When you we brought here, we found a cell-phone on you. This particular phone was on. Now, when we went into your call memory, we found that you had made a call minutes before your capture, a call that was not answered. You would be best to tell me whom you were attempting to call."

"Bite me."

Garlando just sat there, let the comment roll over him. "Who were you attempting to call?"

Before Lisa could answer, a guard smashed her in the back with a rifle. Still bound to the chair, she fell to the floor and slid to a stop. The guard then righted her in the chair and dragged her back to the desk, back in front of Garlando.

"Who were you attempting to call?"

Lisa said nothing.

Garlando leaned back in his chair, lit a cigar. "Fine then. Take her back to her cell," he ordered the guard, who stepped forward and untied Lisa, dragged her to her feet. As she was escorted out, Garlando spoke again. "You will be seeing me again my dear." His lips spread in a grin. "You can count on that."

Lisa was escorted through the drab, grey corridors of the prison. She passed cell after cell. In some, children huddled far from the bars, far from where guards could reach them. Suddenly, she heard it.

"Lisa!"

She turned, and saw a bedraggled Bruce reaching through the bars. "You ok?" he called.

"Not really."

"Don't worry," he called. "I'll think of some…"

A guard stepped forward and clubbed Bruce with his truncheon. Bruce recoiled from the bars.

"Bruce!" Lisa screamed.

"Don't worry about me. It'll all work out," Bruce shouted, "I promise."

Lisa was dragged away from the figure, finally reaching her cell. While one guard opened the door, another threw her into the cell. As the door slammed shut, Lisa picked herself up and threw herself onto the thin mattress that formed a bed. As she lay, tears crept into her eyes.

On the mountain, all was quiet now that the refugees had left. A lizard reclined in the sun in the middle of the track, soaking up the heat of the sun. Suddenly, it snapped alert, sensing something. It dashed off the path, just as the three sports cars roared up the mountain. Sliding and drifting, the Porsche, the Ferrari and the Jaguar blasted their way to a cliff overlooking the island. The Porsche pulled off a 360, the Jaguar slid sideways and the Ferrari braked safely. Ramius climbed out of the shiny Jaguar XKR and walked to the edge of the cliff. Pulling out a pair of binoculars, he focused in on the sprawling prison. Jordan wound down the window. "Can you see her?"

Ramius turned and glared at him. "No. Not really."

Admiral Bickerson pried himself out of the Ferrari. "Bloody Italian sports-cars," he grumbled, "made for midgets."

Ramius wandered over and leaned against the Porsche. "So, how are we going to do this?"

"Well," said the Admiral, "we've been loaned three high performance sports-cars with a whole range of, what did Captain Gargavich call them?"

"Optional extras, I think," mentioned Jordan.

"That's the one. Now, our key goal is to rescue Featherguill and Lisa. Aside from that, we can wreak as much havoc as possible. Subtlety has gone out the window." He looked at the duo. "Shall we?"

"Indeed," said Ramius.

"Too right," added Jordan.

Thirty seconds later, the cars shot down the hill.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The sun was now rising into the sky. Its rays fell upon the islands of Mauanui, filled the Presidential palace, glinted off the missile nose cones and did absolutely nothing in the cells on Quanflict Prison. A new day was dawning.

On a road on the coast, a G.A checkpoint set into the mouth of a gully was now lit by sunlight. The soldiers were tired, sleepy after guarding an empty stretch of road all night. Behind them, the two tanks of the group sat glinting in the sun, their crews stretched out on their decks. Once again, nothing happening. The guards began to gaze about, waiting to be relieved of their duties. Suddenly, a faint sound reached them, a sound that the soldiers had not heard for many hours; an engine. The guards began to get up, looking for the truck back to their barracks. A dark speck at the end of the road grew closer. Suddenly, the guards noticed two things: first, the engine did not sound like a straining truck, but more like a _high-performance engine_. Second, the dot had split into two dots. The sergeant in charge picked up his binoculars and focussed in on the two dots. As the image cleared, through the haze, he could see the oncoming vehicles, a silver Jaguar XKR and a blue Porsche 911 charging towards the checkpoint. The sergeant swore, and then turned to his troops. "Intruders! Arm yourselves!" The troops scrambled to their feet, grabbing AK-47s and M-16s, forming a line in front of the blockade. The sergeant scrambled for his radio. "Checkpoint Sierra to Base, Checkpoint Sierra to Base…"

Finally, Base answered. "Report Sierra."

"Two vehicles approaching at a high rate of speed."

Back at the Presidential palace, a radio operator turned to General Templicto. "What are your instructions sir?"

Templicto thought. "Can they identify the vehicles?"

"Stand by sir." The radio operator turned back to his radio. "Checkpoint Sierra, can you identify the vehicles?"

"Vehicles appear to be two sports-cars. Still heading this way."

Templicto considered this. "Do we have any patrols in the area?"

"No sir."

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Templicto by the shoulder. "It's Dradle Industries," barked the Mexican. "Shoot them. Shoot them now!"

Templicto agreed. "Give the order. Kill them."

Back at Sierra, the sergeant acknowledged. He sprinted back to his troops. The oncoming vehicles were now visible without binoculars, still rocketing towards them.

"Ready!"

The troops raised their rifles. The tanks gun-barrels trained themselves on the approaching vehicles

"Aim!"

The troops aimed….

With a roar, a _third_ vehicle slid sideways across the pass. Moving at such a velocity, the black Ferrari F430 drifted perfectly in front of the troops. Mounted beside the headlights, 20mm rotary-cannons blazed, pouring 1500 rounds a minute into the soldiers. The troops fell, riddled with lead. Dead. The Ferrari, for its part, slid around the other side of the cliff, clearing the route for the Porsche to fire two heat-seeking missiles from side racks. Missiles that _screamed_ into the tanks at what looked like a thousand-miles-an-hour. Each tank shredded into chunks of steel. One turret blasted clear, slamming back into the sand as the Porsche and Jaguar were joined by the Ferrari, the trio revving through the remains of the blockade, leaving a dead platoon, two demolished tanks and a wounded sergeant croaking into his radio that the cars had gotten past.

Back at the palace, General Templicto slammed his fist into a desk. "Call all the troops along that road. I want those cars stopped now!"

The three cars burned up the road, parallel to the shimmering beaches of Mauanui. In the Jaguar, Ramius was driving like a man possessed. In the Ferrari, Admiral Bickerson grinned at the rear-view mirror, then scowled at his seat. Taking one hand off the wheel, he tried to adjust the seat. No success. "Bloody Italian midgets," he muttered. In the Porsche, Jordan fiddled with the stereo system of his car. Finally, he found a good song. Ride of the Valkyries. He smiled, flipped down his radio boom-mike. "Not a bad move Admiral. Didn't think you had it in you."

"When you've been around as long as I have, you learn a few things," smirked the Admiral. "Like flanking manoeuvres. Fast ones."

Ramius broke in. "Sorry to interrupt your schooling Jordan, but I've just picked up a small problem." He looked at the screen in the dashboard in front of him, which displayed the image from the radar array in the roof of his XKR. In front, returns were coming off the valley in front of them. Many returns. "What do we have Margaret?"

Back at Dradle Industries Headquarters, Margaret focussed the image from a recon satellite far above the island. "Looks like a reception committee," she said. "T-72's, RPG's and what looks like a few old 152-inch artillery pieces." As she watched, a blaze of fire emerged from the artillery. "Which just fired!"

"Heads up!" roared Ramius. The three super-cars began to jink and jive all over the road. Not a moment too soon, as the shells started to fall, gouging out huge chunks of roadway. The cannons roared again, and more shells fell. One shell landed _right beside_ Jordan's Porsche, blasting its right side with shrapnel. But the titanium shell, one of the many enhancements added by the Russians, protected the car from damage. The concussion wave however, shoved the car upwards and sideways. Acting swiftly, Jordan wrenched the wheel to the side, balancing the Porsche 911 on its _left wheels_. Still blazing along at 200 kph, the silver sports car cut right across the road, in front of the Ferrari and Jaguar before _slamming_ back onto all four wheels!

"Yeehaaa!" bellowed Jordan. "4 seconds on two wheels! Beat that!"

"Cripes. Who taught you to drive?" laughed Ramius.

"Yes yes, very impressive, but have you noticed the shells are still falling?" interjected the Admiral. "Any ideas?"

Ramius spoke. "Captain Gargavich. You still there?"

Back at the bay, Gargavich picked up the microphone. "Still here Comrade Manor. What is it you need?"

"You remember that air-support?"

Gargavich smiled. "Indeed I do."

"We could use that right about now."

"Consider it done. Sasha is on her way." He put down the microphone and picked up the intercom. "Sailors of the _Oxothor_, it is time to put our daughter to the test. Launch Sasha!"

At the rear of the StealthKirov, the rear deck irised open, revealing a dark hole. Though the deck rose an aircraft loaded with missiles. To be more specific, the aircraft was a Sukhoi Su-37 'Flanker', on of the most advanced fighter jets built by the Russian Federation. This particular fighter was different from its original design however. For one thing, it _had no cockpit_. This was because the Russian government had decided that, when it came to finding an accompanying aircraft for the StealthKirov, an unmanned Flanker was the best choice. Basically a giant, missile-armed remote control plane, the new Strikers were treated by their engineering complement like a member of the family, even giving their jets names. The theory was that if they treated 'Sasha' with love, she would return the favour. Many times, she had.

On the deck, Sasha's rear thruster rotated downwards, and hatches opened in her fuselage. With a scream of jet thrusters, she lifted vertically off the deck of the _Oxother_. Rotating in mid-air, Sasha screeched across the sky towards the battle.

Ramius wrestled with the wheel of the Jaguar, throwing the high-performance vehicle around the craters that formed in the road as if by magic. "Where…the..hell..is..that..air..support.." he grunted. Suddenly, the road in front of him erupted, and a immense crater slammed into place. The Jaguar soared into the air, flying over the crater before smacking into the ground on the other side. Ramius was stunned. "Well, that was fun."

Suddenly, with a roar, a shadow rocketed overhead. Looking up, Ramius saw a black form heading straight for the valley. Sasha had arrived.

Back on the _Oxothor_, Gargavich concentrated on the screen in front of him, which showed the view through Sasha's forward cameras. The artillery pieces were still firing at a fantastic rate. "The artillery goes first," he ordered. 'Prepare air-to-ground missiles."

"Captain, missiles ready." A crewman reported.

"Fire!"

As Sasha scorched through the air at just below the speed of sound, the forward radar array in her nose scanned the valley. After acquiring the artillery pieces, Sasha locked on and fired four AT-9 Whirlwind anti-tank missiles. The missiles screeched in at Mach 1.5, before detonating _hard_ against the artillery. The cannons shattered under the stunning blow, pieces flying across the landscape. Back on the _Oxother_, the crew cheered their success. A cheer that was cut short as a G.A trooper levelled a Stinger missile and blasted Sasha from the sky. The wreckage of the jet slammed into the ground. Sasha would fly no more.

Back with the cars, Ramius watched as the artillery pieces were blasted to bits, followed by Sasha being clouted from the sky. Jordan made his thoughts known. "I believe the term for this one is, 'bugger'," he said. Ramius spoke. "Sorry about that one captain."

"No matter," said Gargavich. "Just make sure you take out a few for Sasha."

"Fair enough." Now that they were getting closer to the valley, Ramius could see that a number of tanks had been placed across the road. As he watched, tracer fire and RPG's began to extend towards them. Ramius looked to his left. Jordan's Porsche 911 romped alongside. On his right, Admiral Bickerson and the Ferrari F430 held place perfectly. "Jordan, if you will…"

"Roger that," Jordan replied, pressing a button. A hatch in the roof of the Porsche 911 opened, revealing a rack of rockets. "Fire in the hole!" he roared, pressing a button on the dashboard. Instantly, four rockets shot out of the rack and darted towards the tanks. Upon impact, the tanks were enveloped with dense black smoke. " So long T-72," he smirked. The Porsche then jolted as it ran over another crater, recently formed by one of the tanks firing another shot. "What the…"

The smoke cleared, and there was the blockade _completely untouched_. Not a single tank had been damaged, and they now fired at the oncoming cars with renewed vigour. "Jordan," said the Admiral, "you _did_ press the right button, didn't you?"

Jordan scanned the panel, realised. "Ah. High-explosives on the _left_, smoke rounds on the _right_." He smiled sheepishly. "My bad."

Ahead, the road forked into two directions, one road headed up into the mountains... The other continued along the coast, towards Quanflict. "Well, we can't go through them," shouted Ramius. "We'll have to go around. Split up!"

The three super-cars manoeuvred as they went, like a magician moving cups in a game where one must find the marble. Then, in a blaze of acceleration, each car headed in a different direction. The Porsche drifted into a perfect slide, ended up going right, along the mountain road. The Jaguar edged left, heading towards the beach. The Ferrari however, _accelerated towards the roadblock_. At the wheel, Admiral Bickerson muttered to himself. "I'm getting too damned old for this." He steeled himself, and rocketed towards the roadblock, through the fire that was being laid down by the terrorists.

"Aw man," groaned Jordan. "Is he going to do what I think he's going to do?"

"I think he is," replied Ramius. "You're never going to live this one down."

The Ferrari continued to accelerate towards the roadblock, machine-gun fire lashing out at it. Admiral Bickerson, glared out the windshield, spied what he needed. Perfect.

As the terrorist continued to rain fire down on the oncoming Ferrari, the officer in charge radioed base. "Two of the cars have split up. Need additional forces. Copy?"

"Roger that," came the reply. General Templicto turned to the Mexican. "We're going to need some heavier weapons. You got anything with you?"

"Of course," said the Latino mercenary. "As do you."

Back at the blockade, the G.A officer continued to yell orders. "Keep firing!" he screamed. " Keep firing you worthless sacks of…"

Abruptly, the Ferrari jolted right. Thinking they'd scored a hit, the terrorists cheered. But the black sports car kept on coming, now angled towards a smooth rock face beside the road. At the controls, Admiral Bickerson's face was set as hard as the rocks now approaching. He floored it. The V8 engine roared, pushing the sports machine to 250 km/h…270…290…

Abruptly, the car reached the rock face. Smoothed by millions of years exposure to the elements, the rock had been hollowed and etched into a curved formation that angled upwards. The Ferrari rocketed up the curve then, stunningly, went airborne. Time slowed. The Ferrari F430, its black paintwork pitted by bullets but still gleaming, blazed _over_ the roadblock. Then, time accelerated again, and the super-car _slammed_ back onto the ground, rocketing away along the coastal road. The G.A troops, stunned by this rather accurate impersonation of a jet fighter by a car, tried to keep firing, but just couldn't. All they could do was watch as the Ferrari vanished into the distance. In the car, Admiral Bickerson was still muttering. "Getting too damned old…"

The mountains of Mauanui stood like grey sentinels beside the thin line of the mountain road. Along the cliff road drove the Porsche, the sun gleaming off its blue paint. Jordan drove at speed, confident that no vehicle was following. He looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled. Nothing there. He returned his gaze forwards, drove for a minute. The traction control system of the sports car had no trouble handling the winding road. Jordan checked his mirror again. Still smiling. His smile went flat. Behind him, closing rapidly was a Huey gunship. As it approached, the helicopter turned sideways, so Jordan could see both the red eagle symbol of Global Anarchy and the 50. cal machine gun poking out the side door. "Oh damn…' he said as the gun opened fire. A tail of sparks, bullets ricocheting off the tar seal, followed the Porsche as it tried to manoeuvre. Left, right, left went the speeding Porsche. Behind it, the helicopter flew side on, raining down hell upon the car. Then, it closed the distance. 10 metres. 5 metres. 2 metres. Impact. The helicopter and car slammed together. Side by side the duo raced along the road. Then, the helicopter began to slide sideways, shoving the Porsche towards the cliff.

"Aw no way!' shouted Jordan, slamming on the brakes. The Porsche Ceramic Composite Brakes system kicked in, stopping the vehicle, hard. The Huey shot ahead. As it did so, the left landing skid caught on the Porsche's wing mirror, and ripped it clean off. As the chopper rocketed ahead, Jordan wound down his window. "Goddamnit!" he yelled, waving his fist at the retreating chopper. "This was a new car!"

By the beach, Ramius and the Jaguar slammed over sand dunes. The suspension of the car was taking an absolute pounding, but it held up. Finally, the Jaguar reached the flat surface of the beach. Ramius steered for the dark band of sand, solid sand that could support the sports car. Once there, he floored it. The speedometer began to climb, the super-charged 4.2 litre V8 cranking out the horses. 100 km/h went past like a blur. 200 went by just as fast. Finally, Ramius had to slow as an immense rock formation appeared. He would need to go through the formation, through its many tunnels to continue along the beach. He slowed to 70, and prepared to angle into the rocks. Suddenly, over the rock formations appeared three Light Attack Buggies. Basically engine, tubing and Vulcan machine gun, these vehicles could venture into and over terrain that the Jaguar just could not. The Vulcan machine guns opened fire, strafing the front of the Jaguar. Ramius swerved to the left, dodging two of the charging buggies but clipping the third. The armoured, reinforced prow of the Jaguar XKR sliced into the buggy like a chainsaw through butter. So violent was the collision that the wheel of the buggy was torn clear off. The buggy slammed into an outcrop of rock and burst into flame. The other two buggies turned and pursued the Jaguar into the rock formation, into the tunnels.

Jordan slewed the Porsche around the tight mountain roads. He hadn't seen the Huey that had torn off his mirror for a while. "Maybe the bugger just went home," he muttered as he rounded a chicane. Then, in the distance, he saw movement. As he got closer, he could see the Huey hovering just off something set on the road, something that looked an awful lot like a…

"Spike strip, huh? Nice try," laughed Jordan. Revving the Porsche down the mountain, he drove square over the spike strip. The tyres popped as the spikes tore into them, and the Porsche started to slide. Jordan punched a button on the dashboard, and the _second_ tyres within the wheels inflated, restoring control. But the spike strip wasn't finished yet. He velocity of the Porsche had torn the spike strip off the ground, its end lashing around for something to catch. It caught the underside of the Porsche. One spike latched itself in, pulling the chain along. With the spike strip in tow, Jordan continued racing down the mountain road.

In the tunnels, the buggies raced on, the path in front of them lit by their powerful headlights. They had only seen glimpses of the brake lights of their quarry, but knew that there was only one way through. If they didn't get the troublesome Jaguar, a man at the exit with a Predator anti-tank missile would. Deeper and deeper into the tunnels they drove. Then, without warning, there was a loud bang. _All four_ tyres on the lead buggy blew to bits, as it ran over spikes left on the ground by the Jaguar, another one of the weapons fitted by the Russians. The buggy, unable to steer, pulled over to the side, its driver gesturing the other vehicle on. So on the lone buggy went, searching for its target. Suddenly, the driver noticed daylight. The end of the tunnel was in sight. What wasn't though was the Jaguar. The driver squinted as he looked forwards.

The Jaguar announced its presence by _ramming_ the buggy from _behind_! The driver was stunned. How on earth had it gotten there? No matter, he knew because there had been no contact with the missile man that the first vehicle out of the tunnels would be blown to smithereens. He tried to radio in, but the radio only emitted static. Frantically, he stomped on the brakes. But the Jaguar was just too strong. With a roar, the two vehicles shot out of the tunnel, airborne. The waiting terrorist, alerted by the distinctive sound of the Jaguar, took aim and fired. The Predator missile shot out of its tube. Barely reaching its top speed, it slammed into the buggy, shattering it. The Jaguar soared through the wreckage and tore off down the beach again.

In the mountains, Jordan and the Porsche tore along the mountain road. Behind them, the spike strip continued to be dragged along by the powerful sports-car. Finally, the Porsche broke into a clear area. Logging vehicles, trucks, saws, all lay where their owners had left them after the attack. The Porsche picked its way across the clearing. The ground in front of it suddenly erupted in a cloud of dust. Jordan looked up and saw the Huey hovering overhead. Only now, instead of the machine gun, the side gunner now had twin M-79 grenade launchers. He fired again, the rounds hit beside the speeding car, fragments pinging off the armour. Joradn continued to drive flat out. "Never thought I'd say it, but that chopper is really starting to tick me off." Behind him, the spike strip whipped about at every manoeuvre. It twisted, curled, went airborne and smacked into a small tree-trunk section, embedding itself. The chunk of wood, now attached to the Porsche by way of the spike strip, skipped along behind the speeding vehicle. The Porsche continued along the road, now heading along the side of another mountain; solid rock on one side, a 700 foot drop on the other. The log behind slid all over the road. Suddenly, the Huey rose above the cliff side, keeping pace with the sports car. The 50. cal machine gun had been reinstalled, and the gunner poured fire at the car, laughing all the while. The right side of the Porsche was covered in ricochet sparks. Inside, Jordan took his eyes off the road briefly, scanned the control panel. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, pressing a button. In the rear of the vehicle, a panel slid open and out extended a GShG-7.62 four-barrelled machine gun. The gun panned across and unleashed its 6000 rounds-per-minute into the cargo bay of the Huey. The gunner just ceased to exist as the sleet of bullets blast through the side of the chopper, which banked away. Jordan smiled, pressed the button to retract the weapon. The gun, its barrels still smoking, withdrew into the car. Jordan continued along the road. Up ahead, the road made a U-turn before heading back down to sea level. As he raced towards the turn, Jordan saw the Huey rise up, facing him. The forward-mounted cannons on the chopper blazed. But the Porsche just kept on coming. Then, in a glorious movement, the Porsche slid around the U-turn and continued down the mountain. The log behind however, swung out off the side of the road, care of centrifugal force. As it did so, the strain on the spike strip became too much, and the end attached to the speeding car detached. The log soared through the atmosphere, before slamming into the Huey. The chopper rocked backwards for a second. Then, the spike strip made its presence felt. Whipping up into the air, the chain came into proximity of the Huey's air intake. Being sucked in, half of the chain disintegrated, shredding the interior of the helicopter engine. Worse, the other half wrapped itself around the rotor assembly. Finally, to the horror of the pilot and co-pilot of the terrorist helicopter, the engine ceased to function, and the rotor blades, wrapped in chain, ceased to rotate. No power plus no lift equals fall. Respecting the laws of physics, the Huey dropped, 700 feet, straight down. Watching in the rear-view mirror, Jordan was stunned to see the Huey fall. "There are many things you might be able to fight guys, but gravity isn't one of them," he said as he shoved the accelerator to the floor. The Porsche rocketed down the mountain.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

At the central control General Templicto and the Mexican stood silently, listening as the reports from the troops came in.

"…Just shot right past…"

"…Fire! Fire now!…"

"…Here they come…"

Templicto looked at the Mexican. "Have you noticed where they're headed?"

"I'd make a guess at Quanflict." Muttered the mercenary. "I can move more troops to the prison. We can..."

"No."

The general and the mercenary turned. There in the doorway stood Scott Tranous. Behind him on the right stood Jenkirk.

"The men at the prison are expendable," Tranous smiled. "In the meantime, the Dradle Industries warriors came from the sea, and we can certainly stop them from returning." He turned back to Jenkirk. "See to it personally."

"As you wish." Jenkirk turned and left.

At Quanflict prison, the sun now illuminated the complex. The rocky crags around the compound were silent. Then the distant cracks and dull booms of the oncoming firefight echoed through the canyons. Suddenly, around the corner appeared the Ferrari. In hot pursuit were three Ford Escorts, G.A troops firing out the windows. Suddenly, one terrorist fired an RPG. The rocket shoomed up the canyon, narrowly missing the speeding F 430. Inside, Admiral Bickerson glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Goddamnit. Why are you so determined to kill me?" Edging off the road into the dirt, he slammed the steering wheel to the left and shifted into reverse. The Ferrari spun in a 180, ended up facing backwards, still rocketing along at 130 km/h. Bickerson pulled the trigger on the wheel. 20mm rotary cannons blazed, blasting one Ford to shreds. 'What have I done…" he spun the wheel again, throwing the super car into another 180. The Ferrari spun back again and accelerated, "…to personally affront you guys?" The two other Fords dropped back, out of range of any more manoeuvres. The Admiral smiled. "Wise move." He spoke into his microphone. "Ramius, Jordan, where are you boys?"

" At your 2 o'clock high," came the reply. The Admiral looked up. Through breaks in the rock formations, he saw a glimpse of a blue Porsche racing along. "I see you," he replied. "Ramius, you there?" Silence, then, "I'm here. Still on the beach."

"Fair enough," said the Admiral. "So, what's the plan?"

"You two provide a distraction. I'm going into the prison to get Lisa."

"How come you always get the fun job?" muttered Jordan.

"Because I can," retorted Ramius.

"Fine, fine," said Jordan. He looked ahead. "You up for a game of Distract the LAVs with Big-Ass Cannons Admiral?"

"As the younger generation says my dear Jordan," the Admiral commented, " 'bring it on home boy'. Is that right?"

"You know it"

As the Ferrari roared out of the canyon, the Porsche dropped into position beside it. Side by side, they blazed towards the waiting terrorists.

In the prison, Lisa woke. The loud thump of auto-cannon fire echoed through the high barred window of her cell. Clambering on top of her bed, she peered out. Smoke clouded the area outside the prison. Then, she saw the black Ferrari scorch past in the distance. Suddenly, the door of her cell was wrenched open. She spun. In marched Haram Garlando. Lisa lashed out, but the warden was too quick for her. Grabbing her, he dragged her out of the cell. "Time for us to leave, my dear," he muttered as he dragged her down the corridor. Up ahead, more soldiers surrounded a battered and bloodied Bruce Featherguill. A soldier ran up. "Sir, the helicopter is 3 minutes out."

"Excellent. Myself, the lady and the ambassador will be leaving. Continue to defend the complex until we are clear."

"NO!" cried Lisa.

Garlando struck her. "Be silent!" Then softer, "We're going to find somewhere to get 'better acquainted', we are." He hauled her up the stairs to the helipad.

On the coastal road, the Jaguar XKR sped along, unharrassed for the moment by G.A. troops. Inside, Ramius drove without fear, headed for the rising smoke pall over the prison. A tone sounded in the cockpit. Ramius punched a button. "What is it Margaret?"

"Satellite shows a chopper heading for Quanflict," Margaret reported from the Dradle Industries HQ. "Troops on the helipad. They also appear to have a hostage that appears to be…"

"Lisa," Ramius snarled. "The bastards are trying to get away." Then, a gleam crept into his eye. "Not today." He mashed the accelerator the floor.

On the helipad, Garlando scanned the horizon. At his feet, Lisa gazed about. The firefight continued around them, the occasional bullet sparking off the rails around them. While the Global Anarchy troops had superior numbers, the Ferrari and Porsche were doing quite well. However, he felt it was time to leave. Then, with a roar, a Mi-8 helicopter arrived, Garlando's ride. It circled the prison, then prepared to land. Garlando smiled.

Ramius glared out of the windscreen. He took in the situation. Up ahead, the prison was surrounded in smoke. Occasionally, he saw a sleek shape emerge from the ruckus and instantly dive back in; the Ferrari and Porsche. He considered his options. Something drastic was needed. He keyed his microphone. "Admiral? I think that we're going to need something a little more…drastic."

In the Ferrari, Admiral Bickerson shook his head. "You don't want to…"

"Yes I do."

The Admiral sighed. "Fine." He changed frequencies. "Admiral Bickerson to _Dark Trident_. How do you read?"

"Reading you five-by-five sir. Go ahead.

"Execute flight-plan Thumper Four-Zero. Target is Quanflict Prison."

"Yes sir. Launching in three…two…one…launch."

A loud roar echoed over the airwaves. Out to sea, a dead-straight trail of smoke climbed skywards from the _Dark Trident_. Levelling off at 100,000 feet, it began to dive towards the prison.

Garlando looked about him. The Ferrari and the Porsche were still raising all kinds of hell around the prison. But the helicopter was getting closer. In the distance, the Jaguar XKR was rocketing towards them. Garlando realised that the Jaguar was the true threat. "Bring up the Milan anti-tank missiles," he roared. "Blast that car to metal filings."

"NO!" cried Lisa, dashing forward.

Garlando grabbed her and hurled her backwards. "Stay out of this," he hissed. "Do it!"

The two soldiers and the railing raised their launchers. Normally, a Milan was ineffective against high-speed vehicles, but in a frontal shot it could do the job. As the soldiers attempted to get a lock on the jinking car. Garlando looked up… and froze as he saw the oncoming contrail. "Hold your positions!" he screamed. "Whatever happens, destroy that car!" Grabbing Lisa, he dashed for the stairwell and re-entered the prison.

On the _Dark Trident_, technicians watched their consoles as the vehicle they had launched rapidly approached the prison.

"Vehicle at Mach 6 and accelerating."

"70,000 feet. Impact in 10 seconds."

"Engines in the green. Hull temperature within limits…Doorstop is go for Thumper."

The two guards on the prison wall kept aiming their missiles at the oncoming Jaguar. Finally, both heard the 'locked' tone from their launchers. "Target locked. Firing in 3…2…"

They got no further.

Moving at seven times the speed of sound, Doorstop tore the sky apart as it dived on the prison. Then, at 100 metres above the prison, it pulled up sharply. 2 seconds later, the immense shockwave hit the prison. The boom was like a thousand thunderstorms. The pressure wave slammed into the wall. The two missile men just vaporised. The Mi-8 helicopter, still circling, was blown away like a moth in a hurricane. But there was more to come. A 20-metre chunk of the prison wall shattered into dust. Then, the shockwave bounced back off the immovable earth and headed into the atmosphere. Silence fell. Then, at 230 km/h, Ramius and the Jaguar shot through the hole and entered Quanflict Prison.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Harlam Garlando and Lisa were knocked off their feet by the impact of the Doorstop. The Mach 7 shockwave shook the building like a leaf in a windstorm. Garlando went down hard, while Lisa quickly scrambled to her feet. A blazing smile lit her face. Help had arrived. Beside her, Garlando clambered back up.

"Well, you're stuffed now," Lisa smirked.

"We'll see," snarled Garlando. With that, he grabbed her and started to run.

The Jaguar slid to a stop in the main atrium of Quanflict Prison. The sports car had barely come to a halt when Ramius leapt out. Moving quickly, he strode to the back of the car. Opening the trunk, he retrieved a Remington Bulldog 12-gauge automatic shotgun and a long dark coat. Putting on the coat, he spoke into his microphone. "I'm in. Tell the boys on the Big T that their shot was spot on."

Outside, Admiral Bickerson grinned. "Of course it was. They're the best at what they do."

"Sure, whatever you say. I'm going to search for Lisa. You and Jordan keep on doing what you're doing out there. I'll be in touch." No sooner had he said this then two Global Anarchy troopers spun out of the corridor and raised their weapons. Ramius fired two shots. The two 'Disor" knockout rounds hit each trooper and sent them flying. They were unconscious before they hit the ground. Because Ramius had no idea if any civilians were still in the prison, he'd brought along a range of non-lethal ammunition.

"Roger that. Just call if you need anything." Replied Bickerson.

"Will do. Ramius out." With that, Ramius replaced the two rounds and moved down the corridor.

The door burst open as Garlando burst through, still dragging Lisa with him. In the room was a range of communications equipment. This was the centre of the prison, where guards could keep an eye on the whole complex. Cameras through the prison showed various images of the building. On one screen, the Jaguar sat in the middle of the room. Garlando scanned the other screens. As he watched, one flickered to static. Cursing, he dashed to a radio transmitter and picked up the handset. "Quanflict to Command, come in."

"Reading you loud and clear Quanflict," came the reply. "Go ahead."

"Prison has been breached. Repeat, prison has been breached. Am still under heavy attack. Please advise."

At the Presidential palace, the radio operator turned to General Templicto. "Your orders sir?"

Templicto picked up the mike. "Garlando? Do you still have the ambassador?"

"No sir. We lost him in the confusion."

Templicto sighed. "Then why should I save you?"

Harlando was frantic. "I still have the girl! For God's sake Santos, send a chopper!"

Templicto thought it over. "Well, I guess one hostage is better than none. Chopper is inbound." With that, he terminated the connection.

Ramius dashed from corner to corner, occasionally firing at any G.A troopers who showed themselves. Then, he stopped. And listened. Up ahead, he heard voices.

"Another helicopter is coming! Get ready!"

"Move! Move!"

Then….

"Let go of me!"

Lisa.

Ramius leapt around the corner. Fired three times. Three of the troopers fell. There, in the middle of the corridor, stood Harlam Garlando. And beside him…

"Lisa! DOWN!" Ramius roared. Lisa hit the deck as Garlando drew his pistol. But Ramius was faster. The shell blasted Garlando off his feet and sent him sprawling, out cold. Slowly, Lisa stood. She gazed down at her former captor, then in the other direction at Ramius, shotgun still smoking. Then, she ran towards him. Ramius threw down the Remington and went to her. They met in the middle of the corridor. Lisa threw her arms around Ramius, who in turn wrapped his arms around her. They hugged for a moment. "You ok?" said Ramius.

"Not to sound stereotypical, but I am now," laughed Lisa. "What took you so long?"

"Traffic. Absolutely horrible."

They both laughed for a minute. Then Lisa looked up. "Ramius, there's something I need to talk to you about."

Ramius looked down at her. "Same here. But I think we should get out of here first. Come on, transport is waiting just outside. We'll be off like a…"

Bang.

Ramius fell to the ground. Startled, Lisa turned. Gun still smoking, Garlando staggered to his feet. "Sorry, but your transport has already been arranged."

"You bastard!" screamed Lisa. She charged towards Garlando, who lashed out, knocking her to the ground. Lisa looked up to see the gun pointing at her. "Try it, and you'll be as dead as your boyfriend over there." Garlando hauled her to her feet and down the corridor. Lisa looked back, saw Ramius lying on the ground. Then, they turned the corner, and the body disappeared from view.

Outside, Jordan and Ramius continued to circle the prison. Jordan spoke. "He's been in there a long time. You think he needs some help?'

"No. He'll call if he needs us," replied Admiral Bickerson. "Keep your eyes peeled though."

At that moment, a river of bullets rained down on the two cars. Jus as quickly, the fire ceased. Admiral Bickerson looked in amazement at the bullet that had punched through his windshield and ended up on the seat beside him. "Armour-piercers!" he roared. "Go go go!"

The two cars skidded off the mark. Above them, an Apache Longbow swept overhead. Jenkirk had arrived. Then, out of the haze appeared another helicopter. The second transport. In a cloud of dust, the second chopper landed next to the hole in the wall. Through the rotor-wash blasted dust emerged Garlando and Lisa. Garlando threw Lisa into the open door, and then clambered in himself. "Go!" he screamed at the pilot. The helicopter immediately lifted off and headed down the pass.

"Did you see that?" yelled Jordan.

"I saw it, I saw it," muttered Admiral Bickerson. "Try to get Ramius on the line."

"Ramius? Ramius, you there?" Jordan radioed.

But there was no answer. Only silence from Ramius. It was as if he wasn't there.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

The transport thundered down the pass. Inside, Garlando was smiling. Turning to Lisa, his smile changed. "Looks like your escape has been cut short," he sneered.

Lisa said nothing. She just stared out of the chopper. Before, there had been a chance, a hope that she could escape. But now, her chance was gone. As was Ramius. A single tear slid down her cheek.

Back at the prison, Admiral Bickerson and Jordan were still dodging the fire of Jenkirk and the Longbow. Left, right, forward, back. The two vehicles jinked and jived all across the terrain. Jordan had had enough. Up ahead, the road continued on up the pass. Then, for a split second, he saw it. "Follow!" he roared into the microphone as he flicked a switch. Instantly, the Porsche began to belch thick white smoke. Unable to see, Jenkirk was forced to pull up. Meanwhile, Jordan cut left, speeding into a cave in the cliff-side. Admiral Bickerson and the Ferrari were in hot pursuit. As the Ferrari blasted in, an auto-cannon popped up from the rear compartment and fired a single shot at the mouth of the cave. The shell exploded, bringing down a small rockfall that blocked the mouth of the cave. The dust from the explosion mingled with the smoke outside, leaving not trace of the ruse. When the smoke and dust cleared, Jenkirk could see nothing. "Sir, I've lost the vehicles," he radioed.

"No matter," came the reply. "We have more important things to deal with. Return to base."

"Yes sir." Jenkirk wheeled about and the Longbow headed off down the pass.

In the cave, there was total darkness. Then, with a click, the headlights of the two sportscars lit the space. Jordan climbed out of the Porsche and approached the rock-fall. "Nice work Admiral."

Admiral Bickerson nodded. "Seemed appropriate. Now, have you gotten through to Ramius?"

Jordan walked back towards the cars, shaking his head. "Not yet. He's not answering." He stopped. "You don't think that…"

"We saw Lisa and that other guy come out of the hole Ramius went through," the Admiral said gravely. "If they got past Ramius, then there's a good chance that he's…well…dead."

They were silent for a moment.

"So what do we do now," asked Jordan.

"We wait a few more minutes, then we blast through the rocks and rendezvous with the fleet," Admiral Bickerson said. "Then, we reconsider our options."

They stood in silence. Then…

"Why wait? The coast is clear."

With a roar, the rocks at the mouth of the cave collapsed. As the dust settled again, a silhouette appeared at the mouth of the cave. A Jaguar XKR. Ramius. Jordan and the Admiral beamed. "Thought you weren't coming to the party?" Jordan called.

"You know me. Couldn't keep away," said Ramius.

Admiral Bickerson spoke. "What happened in there?"

"Bastard shot me from behind," Ramius said. "By the way, our Bullet-proof Clothing department deserve a budget increase. Ruined my coat, but stopped the bullet."

The Admiral laughed. "I'll think about it."

"Also, guess who I found?"

It was then that the two outside the car noticed the other figure in the car. Bloodied and bedraggled, but still defiant, Bruce Featherguill raised his hand in greeting. "Gentlemen."

"Hello sir," said the Admiral. "We're here to extract you"

"'Bout time," the ambassador said. "The service here is terrible."

"What happened to Lisa?" interrupted Ramius.

Jordan turned serious. "They headed off down the pass."

"Ambassador, I recommend that we get you to our evac point," offered the Admiral.

"I quite agree," Bruce said. "I've had enough of these terrorists. Just make sure you get Lisa out of this."

"We will sir," muttered Ramius. "I can promise you that."

Second later, the three cars split up. The Ferrari roared off towards the coast. The Jaguar and Porsche however headed in the opposite direction, down the pass after the helicopters.

In the helicopter, Garlando was still grinning over his escape. Occasionally, he glanced across at Lisa, who was still gazing forlornly out the side hatch. He turned towards the front of the aircraft. "Where are we headed?" he asked.

The pilot answered without turning. "We're headed for the docks. More secure. Plus we can get rid of some dead-weight from the chopper."

Garlando was confused. "Dead-weight?"

"Yes," said the co-pilot, turning to face him. Then, with a rattlesnake-fast movement, the co-pilot drew his pistol and planted a bullet right in the middle of Garlando's forehead. The force of the shot blasted the former warden out of the aircraft "You," muttered the Mexican. Re-donning his radio headset, he turned to face the Apache beside them. "It is done."

Jenkirk nodded. "Well done. Continue to your destination."

The pilot of the transport chopper straightened. "Radar's picked up two vehicles coming up behind us."

The Longbow spiralled in the air. Behind them, Jenkirk could see the twin dust trails coming down the pass. "Hold your position," he snarled. "I'll deal with this."

As the Jaguar and Porsche rocketed down the pass, Jordan spoke. "So, when we catch the chopper, what are we going to do?"

"We'll force it down, somehow," replied Ramius.

"Somehow?" echoed Jordan. "That's the best you can do?"

"And you can do better?"

Abruptly, an explosion rocked the two cars. Ramius looked up as the Apache Longbow appeared over the sides of the cliff.

"Oh not again," moaned Jordan. "This is like the only guy on this bloody island who knows what he's doing."

A stream of tracer rounds blazed out of the rotary cannon under the Longbow's nose. Ramius and Jordan each swerved to one side to avoid the shells. The two vehicles danced across the blacktop, while the Longbow rained hell down upon them from above. In the Jaguar, Ramius swore. "I've had enough of this," he snarled as he punched a button. In the side of the XKR, a panel popped open, and an AA-11 Atoll heat-seeker missile popped out. Acquiring the thermal energy from the Longbow's engine, the missile leapt off its rail and soared towards the chopper. Jenkirk saw it coming and pressed a button. In the bottom of the Longbow, a sensor picked up on the frequency of the thermal detection system of the oncoming missile. Then, it began to project a thermal image in another direction by laser. This Thermal Projection Device (TPD) worked perfectly. The Atoll shot off in the other direction, slamming into the cliff face. The 4-kilo warhead tore into the cliff, bringing down a rain of rubble that narrowly avoided Jordan and the Porsche. "Don't shoot me!" he yelled. "Shoot him!"

"My bad," replied Ramius.

The Longbow hovered on front of them for a moment longer, then turned tail and blazed down the pass. "That's right, run for it!" yelled Jordan in triumph, not seeing the stream of objects falling from the fleeing chopper to the roadway below. The mines detonated simultaneously, blasting the Jaguar and the Porsche into the air. Ramius had a fleeting thought: _if this weren't going to hurt when I hit, this'd be fun_. Then, the Jaguar slammed into the ground and Ramius's world snapped into darkness.

The Longbow landed on the roadway in a cloud of dust. The two sports cars lay before it, wheels still spinning. Jenkirk got out. Behind him, the transport came in for a landing, armed troopers jumping out and running towards the vehicles. Jenkirk approached the transport just as the Mexican disembarked. "Not bad work," said the Latino mercenary.

"I only follow my orders," replied Jenkirk. He turned as a soldier ran up to him. "Sir, the drivers are still alive. What are your orders?"

Jenkirk thought. "Pull them from the wreckage and burn the cars." He walked back towards the Longbow. "The Master will deal with them."

Minutes later, the Jaguar XKR and the Porsche 911 were burning ferociously. The Longbow and the transport both lifted off. Then the two helicopters headed towards the coast. Towards the Presidential palace.

Down at the coast, Admiral Bickerson and Bruce Featherguill were waiting. Driving to the coast, they'd found a cave to wait out the daylight hours until the Leviathan could surface and pick them up. As they waited, Admiral Bickerson scanned the horizon with binoculars. Then, he saw it. A dark black smudge of smoke against the skyline, rising upwards. Focussing in, he watched as the two helicopters headed inland. He lowered the binoculars.

"Bugger" he said.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The Global Anarchy trooper threw Ramius into the cell and slammed the door shut. Ramius slowly picked himself off the floor and opened his eyes. The cell was about four metres square, with a bunk bed arrangement in one corner and a curtained off bathroom in the opposite one. Ramius staggered to the bunk, clambered to the top and flopped down with a groan. He lay there for a few minutes, before the door was flung open again and Jordan flew through, sliding into the far wall. Ramius watched with amusement as Jordan shouted, "I know a curling team that could use you. Interested?" The cell door slammed again. Jordan looked up at Ramius. "How come you got the top bunk?"

"I got here first."

"So?"

Ramius shook his head in disgust and flopped back on the bunk. "So," he said, "how much of the past couple hours do you remember?"

"Well," Jordan said, sprawled out on the floor, "we crashed the cars?"

"Yup."

"And then we got captured."

"Sounds right."

"And now we're guests of Global Anarchy, locked in a cell with no weapons or easy ways of escape."

Ramius nodded. "Now, that is a fair assessment." Then he looked over the edge. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you just say 'no easy ways of escape'?"

Jordan sat up. "I did."

"You have a plan then?"

Jordan grinned. "Indeed I do."

Ramius grinned back, then rolled back onto his back. "Good thing too. It's your turn anyway."

Up in the Presidential office, Scott Tranous was pacing the floor. Jenkirk stood by the door, watching as his master prowled the floor. Finally, the door opened and a comms officer entered the room. "Sir, none of the governments have agreed to your demands. No government is willing to step down."

Tranous stopped pacing. "They don't believe us. Don't believe that I'll do it. Fools." He turned to Jenkirk. "Pick a city my friend. Any city you like, or dislike as the case may be."

Jenkirk thought for a moment. "Paris," he said. "I had a bad experience there."

"Paris it is." Tranous turned to the comms officer. "Prepare to launch a Sansaxo at Paris."

Down in the bowels of the palace, the fire-control computers calculated trajectories and angles. Each calculation was checked, double-checked, triple-checked, cross-checked and checked off lists. Finally, a target solution was loaded into the Sansaxo. With a screech of grinding metal and the whine of hydralics, the missile was raised into position. Time to launch: 2 hours, 59 minutes and counting.

Ramius and Jordan waited in their cell, waiting for whoever was going to speak to them next. At last, the door was flung open and guards rushed in. The duo were wrenched off their feet and marched down the corridor. Up a flight of stairs they went, until finally they were shoved into the Presidential office. In one corner of the room stood Jenkirk. In the other was the dais and microphones. In the middle of the room, waiting for them, was Scott Tranous, resplendent in his grey suit. He stood there, eyeing the two. Then, he spoke. "So this is the mighty duo of Dradle Industries. At last we meet."

"Sorry about the appearance," Jordan said. "Room service didn't pick up the dry-cleaning, again."

Tranous laughed. "Ah, the legendary wit of Jordan Junicol. Unshakeable. No matter. I'm sure that my good friend The Mexican will find your breaking point."

"As long as we get to a Taco Bell before then. I'm starved."

Tranous laughed again. Then he turned to Ramius. "And this must be the famous Ramius Manor, the driving forces behind this intrusion of my affairs."

"Well," Ramius said, "I can't claim all the credit."

"True." Tranous replied. He then gazed at the two. "You know, of course, you will not be leaving this island alive."

Ramius and Jordan looked at each other. "Really?" they questioned.

"Really." Tranous turned and walked to the windows. "Your executions will be a statement, combined with the destruction of major cities. After the destruction of Paris, then maybe Los Angeles, no-one will ignore Global Anarchy."

"You know, that's just what I said this morning as I made my morning coffee," replied Jordan. "I sometimes think of idiotic things before breakfast."

Jenkirk picked up Jordan and threw him against the panels behind the dais. The plywood shattered as Jordan flew through. Tranous laughed as Jordan picked himself up off the rubble. "We shall see whose dream comes to fruition. Maybe I shall let you watch as the first missile takes off." He turned back to the window. "Until then, you can remain in your cell. Guards."

At that order, troops entered the room and grabbed the two. Jordan was manhandled out the door first. Ramius was about to be taken as well when Tranous spoke again. "Mr Manor?"

Ramius turned. "What?"

The leader of Global Anarchy turned. "You might be interested to know that the girl has not ceased mourning your death."

Ramius's face was stone. "I see."

"Truly touching," Tranous said. "You come all this way to save her. That IS the reason you're here. Isn't it?"

Ramius said nothing.

Tranous smiled. "Take him away." As Ramius was led away, Tranous walked back to the window. He stood, silhouetted against the sun, watching the island in the heat of the day. He began to chuckle.

Ramius was tossed into the cell. Jordan was already there, lying on the floor again. The guard threw the door closed with a dull slam. Ramius picked himself up and looked down at Jordan. "Well?"

Jordan grinned. "I only hope I grabbed enough." Reaching under his shirt, he withdrew a fragment of plywood, no larger than a credit card. "This should do the trick."

"Nice," replied Ramius. He stopped. "Lisa is here too."

"Makes sense. He's keeping all the important prisoners in one place. We'll pick her up on the way out."

"Excellent," smiled Ramius. "And we're going to have to do something about those missiles."

Jordan looked at Ramius and feigned a horrified look. "I know that look. Whenever you have that look, there's going to be a lot of angry accountants."

Ramius ginned even more. "Just be glad you don't have to pick up the tab.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

The Global Anarchy guard stood outside the cell door. He'd been there for a fair amount of time. As he stood, another guard appeared around the corner. "You still here Sanchez?" said the new guard.

"I have to stay," said the first guard. "Orders."

The second guard laughed. "Come on, my friend. No way those prisoners are getting out."

"Oh all right," the first guard relented. "Let's go get a coffee."

The two guards disappeared around the corner. There was silence for a minute. Then, with a creak, the cell door slowly swung open, and two figures crept out into the corridor.

In her cell, Lisa awoke. Startled, she looked about her, and then remembered where she was. Then, she remembered what had happened at Quanflict. The explosions. Then, the shooting of Ramius. Tears crept back into her eyes, and she began to sob. "Ramius," she whimpered. "Why did it have to be you?" Behind her, she heard the door swing open. She got up, facing the wall. "Tell your master that I will still not speak to him." Silence from behind her. Then a hand grabbed her shoulder. "No! I still refuse…" The rest of her sentence was cut off as the hand spun her about, and Ramius swept Lisa up into his arms and kissed her. Lisa was startled, then realised who it was. They stood there, locked together, for what seemed like an eternity, then separated. Ramius looked down into her eyes. "You know," he smiled, "I've sailed halfway across the Pacific for that."

Lisa laughed. "I still stand by my previous statement. What took you so long?"

"Traffic."

"Oh that explains everything…"

Jordan backed into the room, dragging an unconscious guard with him. "Sorry to interrupt, but need I remind you that we ARE still kind of in the belly of the beast here," he muttered.

"He's right," Ramius said. "We've got to get out of here." He reached down and grabbed the guards' rifle, an M-16. "Ready?" he asked.

Jordan reached outside the door, retrieved a similar weapon and a belt of high-explosive grenades. "Who was it that said 'Lock and Load' again?"

"Clint Eastwood, I think."

"Nah, no way… Really?"

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Does it matter?"

"The lady's right." Ramius grinned. "Let's go."

Meanwhile, back at Ramius and Jordan's former cell, the guard had returned from his impromptu coffee break. Leaning against the wall, he slipped and fell against the door, which swung open. The guard fell into the empty room, landing next to a battered piece of plywood, right beside the door. His eyes swept the empty room, and he grasped for his radio. Seconds later, the alarms went off.

The trio sped down the corridor, Jordan sweeping the corridor in front of him, rifle raised and ready to fire. Lisa moved from cover to cover, staying out of the fields of fire. Finally, Ramius covered the rear. Through the palace they ran, entering a corridor with a small alcove mid-way along. Suddenly, Jordan stopped and raised his fist in the traditional infantry sign of _enemy spotted_. The trio leapt into the alcove. Not fast enough. With a shout, the G.A troops opened fire. One side of the corner of the alcove was peppered with gunfire. A moment later, at the other end of the corridor, another patrol appeared and started firing at the other side of the alcove. Inside, Ramius, Jordan and Lisa pressed themselves against the walls, trying to avoid the hail of bullets. As they stood there, Ramius and Jordan gestured wildly to each other. Ramius pointed to Jordan, pointed at his eyes, moved his hand towards the doorway and then made a firing motion. Then, he pointed at himself and Lisa and made a walking motion. _You look out, fire at the troops, while she and I make our escape_. Jordan's response was to raise his middle finger. No explanation needed. Each began waving his arms at the other. Finally, Lisa couldn't stand it. Reaching out, she grabbed two grenades from Jordan's belt. Holding one in each hand, she wrenched the pins out with her teeth, ducked down in the doorway and flung each grenade in a separate direction. The grenades flew out of sight. One. Two. Three. Boom. The grenades went off with a mighty roar. Instantly, the gunfire stopped. Ramius, Jordan and Lisa cautiously poked their heads into the smoke-filled corridor. Not a trooper was left. Jordan turned to Ramius. "I was just about to suggest that one."

Ramius rolled his eyes and grabbed Lisa by the hand. "Come on."

Global Anarchy troops ran through the corridors, slowly closing the net in on the three fugitives. No matter where they turned, there was a patrol to meet them. The three ran on, trying desperately to escape. Finally, they reached a long corridor. At the far end was a corner. Jordan ran onwards, still scanning the area in front of him with his rifle. Lisa ran behind him, while Ramius kept up a steady stream of fire at the pursuing troops. Jordan reached the corner and turned back. "Move people!" he yelled. Lisa reached the corner, but Ramius was still about ten metres down the corridor. Then, time slowed. Jordan watched as a lone trooper rounded the far corner. "Down!" he bellowed. Raising his M-16, he loosed off a single shot before the gun ran out of ammunition and began clicking repeatedly. The shot was dead on, nailing the soldier in the chest. As he fell however, the dying trooper pulled the trigger of his Uzi. On full automatic, the weapon emptied its clip in a matter of seconds. It only took one bullet, a ricochet that fragmented on impact with the wall. One fragment hit Ramius, shooting right through the fleshy part of his lower leg. Ramius roared in pain and went down. "Ramius!" screamed Lisa, breaking away from cover and rushing out to him. Ramius rolled onto his stomach. "Leave me," he called. "Save yourselves." But Lisa ran to him. Behind them, the sounds of the approaching troops became louder. Jordan locked eyes with Ramius, and understood. Then, Jordan ducked around the corner and ran on. In the corridor, Lisa held Ramius in her arms. "Why didn't you listen," he grimaced through the pain.

Lisa smiled through her tears. "I couldn't leave you. You didn't leave me."

Ramius returned her smile, and then threw the rifle away. Then, they awaited the arrival of the terrorists.

Minutes later, Ramius and Lisa were thrown into the Presidential office. Before them stood Scott Tranous, a displeased look in his eyes. He was silent for a minute, then spoke.

"So, you find my hospitality not up to standard?"

Ramius was still in pain, but he grinned up at the terrorist leader. "Like we said before, room service stinks."

Tranous did not smile. "Well, we're going to have to say farewell then, aren't we?" He turned to Jenkirk. "Prepare a firing squad. We're going to have an execution for two." He glared at the couple. "It seems fitting that you both die together." He turned and left the room. G.A troops marched in and wrenched the two to their feet, dragging them from the room.

The front garden of the Presidential palace was a true thing of beauty. Fountians sprouted from the walls that cut the sanctuary off from the outside world. Daffodils and roses grew along a path that led to a central gazebo, decorated with ornate woodwork and painted a glorious white.

An in all, there were worse places to die.

The stained glass door to the palace was thrown open. Ramius and Lisa were shoved through. Then, surrounded by ten guards, they were marched through to the gazebo. Reaching it, the two turned and looked out over the sea as three guards stepped forward to carry out the execution. In the distance, Ramius could see a formation of ships heading towards the island. He instantly recognised the distinctive features of the _Dark Trident_, _Katana_ and the _Messernacht_. He smiled sadly. They would arrive in time to destroy the missiles, but too late to save Lisa and himself. His thoughts then turned to Jordan. Had he escaped? Ramius hoped so. Slowly he turned back to Lisa. She faced him without a hint of fear in her eyes. "It's such a pity," he said. "I've had so much to share with you, so much to do, so much to say…"

"Ssshh…" Lisa said, placing her finger over Ramius' lips. "We both know what needs to be said. I love you, Ramius Manor."

"And I love you Lisa."

They kissed, then as one turned to face their doom. The firing squad raised their rifles as Jenkirk strode forward.

"Rifles up!" he called

In the windows of the palace, Scott Tranous gazed down at the garden. Then, he walked away.

"Ready."

Down at the beach, a Leviathan transporter rumbled back into the sea. At a view port, Admiral Bickerson looked up at the palace, before his view was cut off by a flurry of foam.

"Aim."

At the launch pad, the rocket stood gleaming in the sunlight. In just under an hour, it would take off to decimate Paris, and with it the balance of power.

Ramius held tightly to Lisa. Both faced the barrels of the rifles that would end their lives. The final word they would hear came with sudden power.

"Fire"

Bang.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

The guards turned as a huge metallic shape charged through the previously solid wall of the garden. As they watched, a huge form of masonry approached them at speed, a trail of dust billowing in front of it. Then, gunfire took down the guards with shocking suddenness. The shape charged forth, finally rattling to a halt between the gazebo and the remaining troops. A hatch in the top of the shape was thrown open and a familiar face poked through. "Need a lift?" Jordan yelled.

"Sure, why not?" replied Ramius as he helped Lisa climb in. Beyond them, the remaining troops had regained their sense and were now firing furiously at the shape. As Ramius climbed into the hatch, he looked up. In the windows above, he saw the form of Scott Tranous staring down at him. Ramius threw a jaunty wave in the direction of the window, then climbed down and shut the hatch. As the shape, shifted forward again, the masonry fell clear, revealing it for what it was, a German-made Leopard II main battle tank. Gunfire pinging off its sides, the tanks rolled across the garden and through the wall, leaving a trail of dust behind it.

Up in the palace, Scott Tranous had turned at the sound of the tank blasting through the wall. Charging back towards the window, he watched, stunned, as the tank rumbled around the garden before crashing trough the other wall and away. He watched as the tank reached a fork in the road. One fork headed down towards the beach, and probable rescue for the escapees. Instead, the tank headed up, into the mountains, rumbling towards the ICBM launch area. Tranous swore, and grabbed a radio. "I want that tank stopped at all costs," he roared, his calm veneer gone. "Leave nothing!"

The Leopard II rolled along the mountain road, leaving a trail of dust streaming behind. It's mottled green camouflage, while great for blending in with the forest terrain of the European plains betrayed it as it rumbled across the mountains of Mauanui. Every so often, the turret and its 110-mm main cannon would rotate 180 degrees, point behind briefly, before rotating back to point forward once again. Inside, Jordan drove from the lowered drivers console. Lisa sat in the commanders chair, trying to stay out of the way. In the gunners seat, Ramius checked behind them for pursuit. "Nothing yet," he said, "but they can't be far off."

"Now now," tutted Jordan. "Where's the positive 'maybe they'll just give up and go home'?"

Ramius turned in his seat and glared at Jordan, before turning back to the cannon. Jordan chuckled. Peering out of the drivers hatch, he eyed the cliff-tops above them.

Finally, Ramius called out. "Here they come." Behind them, two RPG-armed Ford F150 pick-up trucks roared along the road. The trucks closed fast. In the back of each truck, a trooper held his RPG-7 rocket launcher at the ready, waiting for the range to close. Finally, one trooper lost his patience and fired. The rocket shot off the mark, leaving a smoky trail behind it. With a CLANG, the projectile ricocheted off the sloping armour of the Leopard and shot off into the air. Inside the tank, the impact sounded like a giant had struck a planet-sized gong. Infuriated, Ramius spun the turret around. "Try to damage my hearing?" he roared. "Damage this." He pulled the trigger. The 120mm L55 main cannon roared like thunder. One of the trucks was literally blasted off its wheels by the impact of the shell slamming into it. The other truck tried to dodge the wreckage, but hit a flaming piece of chassis and flipped onto its roof, crushing the trooper in back. In the tank, Ramius rotated the turret back towards the front. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he said.

The tank continued to roll over the mountains on Mauanui. Then, up ahead, the ICBMs appeared. Twenty-five missiles pointing to the heavens, each tipped with the deadly Sansaxo plasma warhead. One was the missile that would be fired at Paris. In the Leopard, Ramius and Jordan looked at each other. "Any ideas?" questioned Jordan.

Ramius thought. "One of those is destined for Paris, but we don't know which one. What kind of fuel does the Marteau missile use?"

"Liquid hydrogen and oxygen."

"Right," said Ramius. "The fuelled missile will be freezing cold then. So we just have to find the cold missile and that'll be it. One shell and the blast will destroy the rest. I'll sneak in, then…"

Jordan interrupted. "Oh no you don't. Not on that leg. It's my turn to be the big hero."

Ramius looked at his friend. "Fair enough. Lisa, give him a rifle."

Lisa obliged. As Jordan started to climb out of the tank, she called after him. "Good luck."

"Keep some for yourself," he replied. "You haven't seen how Ramius drives!"

The guards in the complex were standing at the ready as the tank rolled towards them. Then, as the tank got closer, they opened up with rifle fire. The tank responded with its own 50. cal machine gun that sent the troops diving for cover. In the confusion, no one noticed a figure cut through the fence further down and creep in. Jordan spared a quick glance at the Leopard, raising hell at the gate. Shaking his head with amusement, he dashed towards the missiles.

The Leopard tank dashed nimbly in front of the guards, distracting them from what was going on in the compound. Inside, Lisa wrangled with the controls, while in the turret Ramius strafed the guards with the mounted machine gun. As he did so, he glanced at the ammo counter. Only 45 remained of 50. cal. He sighed and continued firing, occasionally calling instructions to Lisa. "Left!" he shouted, and Lisa rotated the tank to the left. "Right!" and Lisa turned as appropriate. The guards were getting frustrated as the tank shrugged off their bullets, but then their spirits lifted as a large CLANG emitted from the Leopard. Inside, Ramius spun the turret. "What the hell was that?" yelled Lisa.

Ramius found what had hit them. "This isn't the only tank on the island my dear." He shouted as he spotted two T-72 turrets moving along a ridge behind them. "We need to break off and take them out!"

"What about Jordan?"

Ramius was silent. Then, "I can be left unsupervised for a minute," Jordan said over the radio. "Just remember to be here when I need a lift home."

Ramius grinned. "You heard the man. Back down the road"

Lisa did so.

In the compound, Jordan still searched from missile to missile. Crawling up close, he placed his hand on one. The metal was warm to the touch. Jordan grimaced. The further he went into the compound, the further he'd have to go to get back out. He shook his head and moved to the next missile.

One T-72 exploded as Ramius scored a direct turret hit. He grinned and let out a whoop. "Now this is a novel first date, isn't it?" he smiled.

"Slightly more intense than coffee," Lisa smiled back. Both were distracted as a burst of static grated over the airwaves. Then…

"Hello? Is this Terrorist Taxis? I'd like a pick-up please."

Ramius beamed. "You found it?"

Back at the complex, Jordan crouched in front of a missile. He tried to put his hand on it, but the intense cold of the sub-zero fuel stopped him. "Yup. Got it," he replied. "Third row, second from the back."

"Roger that. On our way," said Ramius, just as Lisa let out a scream. He looked forward to see the remaining T-72 in front of them, its turret rotating towards them. He frantically twisted the turret towards the enemy and pulled the trigger. Both tanks fired at the same instant. The shell from the Leopard bored straight into the T-72 and blew it apart like a watermelon filled with nitro-glycerine. The T-72 shell went low and bounced up off the Leopards hull. As it did so, it clipped the barrel of the cannon. The explosion shook the tank on its suspension and blew the barrel into metal fragments. Inside, Ramius and Lisa were thrown about in their seats. When the rocking finally stopped, Ramius tried to regain his senses. "You OK?" he yelled to Lisa.

"I…I think so," Lisa stammered. "That was close."

Ramius tried to think of something flippant to say, but came up with nothing. "Let's go get Jordan," was all he could say.

In the compound, Jordan took cover in the shadow of the missile. As he waited, he looked up at the Sansaxo warhead, trying to imagine what kind of man would consider using this kind of technology against his fellow man. Unable to come up with an answer, he glanced towards the gate just as the battered and damaged Leopard tank rolled through. He rolled his eyes as he saw the shattered stump of the main cannon. "You just can't go for five minutes without breaking something, can you Ramius?" he muttered, before realising the problem they now had. With no heavy cannon, they had no way of using the tank to destroy the missile. Jordan looked about, and spotted it. Dashing out of cover, he ran to pick up an abandoned RPG. Turning, he pointed the weapon at the ground, not wanting Ramius to get too trigger-happy and mistake him for a Global Anarchy trooper. A minute later, the Leopard rolled up beside him and the hatch was thrown open. "Need a lift?" called Ramius.

"Oh shut up," growled Jordan. "You broke my tank!"

"Look, you want a lift or what?" Ramius retorted.

Grumbling and muttering comments about Ramius and his driving skills, Jordan climbed into the tank and closed the hatch. The heavy vehicle rumbled across the compound and crashed through the far wall. Behind them, G.A. troopers pursued on foot. Finally, 300 metres downrange, the tank came to a stop. Ramius popped out of the hatch, RPG on his shoulder. "Third row, second from the back, right?" he asked.

"Don't screw it up," replied Jordan. "Only one shot."

"Fine," muttered Ramius as he took aim. "This is for my Jaguar," he said as he pulled the trigger. The rocket-propelled grenade shot out and blazed towards the missiles, over the heads of the Global Anarchy troopers. Ramius quickly tossed the launcher away, ducked back into the tank and slammed the hatch shut.

He was just in time.

The grenade crashed into the fully fuelled ICBM, detonating on impact. The explosion ruptured the body of the missile, igniting the hydrogen fuel inside. The fuelled missile, all the unfuelled ICBMs, the compound, the troops and everything within a 400 metre radius was incinerated.

Well, almost everything.

As the fireball broke free of the ground and climbed into the tropical sky, it left scorched earth behind. Scorched earth and a scorched Leopard II battle tank, the air around it shimmering from the thousand-degree fireball it had survived. Inside, Ramius, Jordan and Lisa sat in the air-conditioned cabin, protected from the outside heat by the atmospheric control system of the Leopard. Ramius whistled. "Well, that was interesting."

"It also solves our ICBM problem," replied Jordan.

"So it does. So it does."

Lisa's eyes were wide as she looked out at the devastation. "Can we go home now?"

Ramius nodded. "Yeah, I think we should get out of here. We're going to be _persona non grata_ with a certain terrorist leader."

Seconds later, the tank grinded into gear and headed for the coast. Nobody was watching as an Apache Longbow hovered over the ridge and started to follow.

Out to sea, the fireball had been visible for miles. As it had climbed into the sky, observers in the harbour spotted it and radioed in. Within seconds, a ship cleared the dock and headed out past the breakwater. On the bridge, the ships captain sat in his chair. "Report," he barked.

"Large fireball over the missile storage," replied a technician. "It appears the ICBMs have been destroyed."

"Dradle Industries, I'll guess," muttered Pedro. "Those filthy land troopers couldn't stop them. We will."

As the ship sailed along the coast, the sun reflected off the waves, revealing its name. _Perdedor_.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The cliffs of Mauanui.

500 feet high, they tower over the ocean. Beneath them, the seabed dropped sheer down to 2000 feet before starting to level off. This was a place where any ship could come right up to the cliffs.

The scorched Leopard rattled to a halt. Immediately, Ramius and Lisa clambered out. Jordan moved to the 50. cal controls, ready to take down any foes that appeared. Ramius pulled out a radio and extended the antennae. "Jaguar One to _Dark_ _Trident_, come in." Nothing. He tried again. "Jaguar One to _Dark_ _Trident_, come in." Only silence.

"Where are they?" asked Lisa.

"I'm not sure," replied Ramius. "They should be there."

"Well, they'd better hurry up," called Jordan, "because our whirly-bird buddy is back."

Ramius spun around as a black speck appeared in the sky. A black speck that rapidly grew into an Apache Longbow, armed to the teeth. In the cockpit, Jenkirk grinned evilly. Ramius stood stock still. Lisa covered her ears. Jordan, cursing through his teeth, opened fire with the 50 cal. The bullets pinged off the armoured helicopter. Then, a voice emitted over a loudspeaker. "_There's no escape. Get out of the tank._"

"I don't think he's kidding," Ramius yelled.

Jordan, furious, stopped firing and climbed out of the tank. He joined Ramius and Lisa at the cliff top. "Any bright ideas?"

"Nope," replied Ramius. "Fresh out."

"Great tombstone that will make. 'Here lies Ramius. Ran out of ideas'"

"Ah well."

The three of them gazed up at the hovering chopper. At the cannon beneath its nose as it tracked around to lock on to them. Inside, Jenkirk smiled. He had won. He pulled the trigger…

…just as an explosion of dirt blasted into the air. Surprised, Jenkirk pulled back on the stick. The Longbow scurried backwards like a scared cat. Ramius, Jordan and Lisa turned, just in time to see a very welcome jet climb slowly from beneath the cliff to hover in front of them. Its engines roaring, wings heavy with missiles and a pilot grinning like a man who had won the lottery, the Sea Harrier came to a perfect hover. In the cockpit, Admiral James Bickerson threw the trio a sharp salute before switching to horizontal flight and tearing off after the Longbow. As it went, a canister dropped from the belly of the jet and fell to the ground. Ramius, Jordan and Lisa cheered. Then, over the radio came another sound of salvation.

"_Jaguar One, this is Katana. How do you copy_?"

Ramius leapt for the radio. "This is Jaguar One reading you five-by-five. Where are you _Katana_?"

"_3 klicks offshore. Will be with you in 5 minutes_"

"Roger that _Katana_," Ramius radioed happily. "We'll be waiting. Jaguar One out."

He turned and hugged Lisa. "Our ride has arrived."

"Oh good," replied Jordan. "One thing though. Have you given any thought to how we're going to get down there?"

Ramius dashed to the canister and opened it. Inside, he found three packs and a note. He opened the note and read it aloud. "_These come out of your wages_" he read. He examined the packs more closely. "Parachutes," he realised. He wandered to the edge. "We just strap them on and…" He looked over the edge. And saw it. Far below, a ship sat in a cove, guns trained out to sea. The _Perdador_.

Ramius dived for the radio. "_Katana_, hold position! Hostile holding at the base of the cliffs!" He released the call button, only to hear a loud screeching noise emit from the speaker. "Damn. They're jamming us."

"What can we do?" asked Lisa.

Ramius thought. He glared over the cliff, then gazed at Jordan. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Jordan was confused. "No, I'm not." Then it hit him. "Oh, _no way…_"

Minutes later, a body of water shimmered. Then, the _Katana _materialised as it decloaked. With guns ready, the stealthy warship unknowingly sailed towards the waiting ambush.

On the _Perdedor_, Pedro grinned like a jack-o-lantern. His prey was within his grasp. "Prepare to attack!" he roared. "Prepare to fire the main guns at the bridge." Beneath his feet, the deck began to shudder as the main engines of the _Perdedor_ spun up to speed.

At the base of the cliff, the _Katana_ slid into position. In the radio room though, there was confusion. "I can't raise them," the radio operator shouted. "Jamming on all channels"

On the bridge, Lt. Gina Celranigan stood. Ramius had given her the helm when he had headed inland. "Keep trying," she said. "We need to get through to…"

"Radar contact, twenty degrees off starboard bow, real close!" the radar console operator screamed.

Lt. Celranigan looked out to starboard as the _Perdedor_ appeared around a rocky outcrop. Then, the radio crackled to life "_Dradle Industries ship, this is the Perdedor,_" the voice said. "_We have a lock on your bridge. Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded._"

Lt. Celranigan stood in silence.

On the bridge of the _Perdedor_, Pedro was stoked. "Prepare to board," he yelled. His eyes glowed with delight. Wait until his brother heard about this. He was contemplating what he would do with his newfound fame when a faint roar echoed down from above. It rapidly grew in strength. Pedro frowned. "What is tha…"

That was as far as he got.

On the _Katana_, Lt. Celranigan watched, awestruck, as a _tank_ plunged out of the sky, engine screaming, and thundered into the water beside the _Perdedor _with an incredibly loud KA-BLAASH! The warship shuddered as sixty-two tonnes of armour bored into the water no less than 3 metres to starboard, punching a gaping hole in the water. For a full five seconds, everyone on the _Perdedor _was immobilised by shock. The Lieutenants' face hardened into a decisive grin. "Fire at will!"

Up above, three parachutes drifted in the clear blue sky. Ramius, Jordan and Lisa floated slowly down towards the _Katana_. As they did so, Ramius looked down, straight at the anti-air batteries on the _Perdedor_, all of which were pointing at him. Before they could fire though, the massive main cannon of the _Katana_ spoke in an almighty blast. The _Perdedor_ shuddered in the water. But, she wasn't out of the fight yet. On the stern, a missile rail rotated to accept a Sunburn anti-ship missile. With a roar, the missile leapt off the rail towards the stationary battleship. But the _Katana_ was ready. With the sound of a buzz-saw on steroids, the Minigun Broadside fired, placing a wall of shrapnel between the ship and the missile. The Sunburn was shredded before it could even reach full impulse. This was all that Ramius had time to see, as the rear deck approached at high speed. He raised his legs to absorb the impact, but his leg folded as he hit and he rolled. Sprawled on his back, he pulled the release toggle and the parachute disconnected, flapping its way over the side. He looked up to see Jordan come to a perfect landing, then watched as Lisa came in for landing.

She almost made it.

A burst of machine gun rang out from the _Perdedor_ as it raked the bridge of the _Katana_. One bullet missed the superstructure and continued on, hitting Lisa low in the left, just below the ribcage. She hit the deck and didn't move. "Lisa!" screamed Ramius. Quick as a panther, he scrambled towards her. "Lisa! Stay with me! Just hold on!" He turned to the superstructure. "Medic!" Within seconds, Jordan was by his side, and together they dragged Lisa through the doorway. There, a medic was waiting. With some assistance, Lisa was placed on a gurney and wheeled away, Ramius beside her. "It's going to be OK Lisa. You'll be fine," he said through misty eyes. Finally, he felt a small squeeze of his hand. The ships doctor appeared. His eyes said it all. "Not good," he said. "We need proper medical care, now." He pointed, and Lisa was taken down to the infirmary. The doctor turned. "I can hold her stable for about two hours, then she'll be in trouble." He disappeared after the gurney. Ramius was left standing in the corridor, Jordan beside him. "We've got to get her to the _Callaghan_," Jordan said softly.

Ramius stood in silence. In his eyes burned pure rage. "Of course." He stormed to the bridge.

Lt. Celranigan sat in the command seat, directing the defensive fire at the _Perdedor_. Suddenly, behind her, the door swished open and Ramius strode in like a force of nature. "Lisa's been hit," he announced in a cold voice. "Lieutenant, I need you to radio the _Callaghan_. We've got a patient that needs emergency care."

"Yes sir," Lt. Celranigan responded as she headed for Radio.

Ramius turned, and picked up the intercom handset. "Sailors of the _Katana_. I thank you for coming to our aid. However, Lisa has been hit. We are going to be making a high-speed run to the _Callaghan_. We've got to travel 50 km to clear the Global Anarchy patrols and get close enough for a helicopter extract. I say again, this will be a high-speed run. Secure and retract all weapons. We're going to rely on our speed and manoeuvrability for this one. That is all." He put down the microphone and turned to Jordan, but he was already on his way towards the doorway. "Engineering," he explained. "We're going to need every rev out of those fancy engines of yours." Ramius nodded and turned back to the crew. "Retract the sniper-cannon and all external weapons," he ordered as he strode to a console. Punching in a code, he spoke. "This is Ramius Manor. Initiate program Peregrine-Alpha-One." The console beeped and a tinny voice responded. "_Command accepted. Configuring for Peregrine-Alpha-One._" Alarms began to sound all over the ship.

The _Katana_ began to change. Firstly, the sniper-cannon, which had been covering the _Perdedor_ awaiting any heavy weapons fire, rotated back towards the bow. Then, the mighty naval rifle retracted into the deck. On the superstructure, the miniguns spun into silence and whirred to a stop before the panels over them slammed shut. Beneath the surface, hull plates slid open and four massive super-hydrojets slid out into the water beside the four standard hydro engines. Further forward, the twin stabilisation keels retracted into the hull. Finally, deep in the engine room, two engineers moved towards their consoles. Each removed a key from around their necks and placed them into two keyholes in the console before them. One threw a glance at Jordan, stand at another console diverting electrical power to the engines. Jordan caught the man's eye and nodded. The engineer nodded in return, then turned back to his console. On the three count, both engineers turned their keys. Instantly, every light in the ship dimmed briefly as the gas turbines spun down. But throughout the ship, a faint whine was heard. Deep in the bowels of the ship, a top-secret super-turbine began to spool up. Then, with a roar, it lit and the power gauges in Engineering spiked. Jordan nodded in approval. His creation, the Liquid Oxygen Rapid-Drive Turbine (LORD), had started at least. Now, the raw power began to flow into the hyrdro-jets.

Pedro was suspicious as the incoming fire stopped. Then, he watched as the _Katana_ retracted its weapons. He smiled. "The cowards. They're going to run." He knew that the _Perdedor_ could challenge the 50-knot top speed of the _Katana_. "Prepare to pursue!" he roared. "And someone bring me coffee!" He turned as a sailor appeared with coffee in hand. He dismissed the sailor. Taking a sip, he watched as the _Katana_ began to slew around in the water. "All ahead," he ordered. "Cut them off." The _Perdedor_ began to move towards the _Katana_.

Too slow.

With a roar, the _Katana_ leapt off the mark. Throwing a bow-wave into the air, the warship accelerated, getting up on plane within seconds. She scorched past the _Perdedor_ at 40 knots and, still accelerating, headed out to sea. The wave left by her passing rocked the mercenary vessel, spilling Pedro's coffee. He didn't notice. Mouth open with awe, he watched as the _Katana_ left him for dust. Finally, he spoke. "After them! Full speed!"

"Sir," spoke a radar operator, "their speed is 60 knots and _still climbing!_ We can't keep up"

Pedro swore and hurled his coffee mug to the deck. He swirled around and bellowed at the radio operator. "Contact Tranous. We need air support. Now!" He turned back to the window, but already the _Katana_ had vanished out of sight.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

At the Presidential palace, Tranous was furious. He'd seen the fireball of his ICBM's destruction rising into the air. He knew that Dradle Industries was behind it all. And now, they were escaping. This he could not allow. He grabbed a radio. "Jenkirk, come in."

In the mountains, Jenkirk continued his search for the elusive Harrier and its pilot. He moved into a hover. "I'm here master. What are your orders?"

"The Dradle Industries devils are escaping. You have failed to stop them."

"I am pursuing one right now," Jenkirk replied. "Allow me to send the Hellhounds to destroy the others."

Tranous thought. The Hellhounds were Jenkirks' squadron of cold-blooded killers in modified Lynx helicopters. The bloodthirsty group had been brought after Jenkirk himself requested them. He nodded. "Get them on it," he said, "or do not bother to return."

Jenkirks' face turned to stone. "It will be done my master." He cut the transmission, then switched to another frequency. "Hellhounds, this is Head Wolf. Pursue vessel heading east from main island." He sat in silence for a moment, then made one final order: "Destroy at all costs."

The Pacific sun sparkled merrily on the ocean. The light reflected off the waves like shattered diamonds. A scene of peace. Suddenly, the peace was shattered. Throwing a bow-wave twenty feet in the air, the _Katana_ blazed across the ocean like a missile. On the bridge, Ramius Manor sat in his command chair watching the speed readout above the central console. 100…110…115 knots the readout climbed. Finally, it reached a maximum speed of 120 knots. Ramius nodded coldly. "Status of the LORD turbine?"

"LORD is stable at 100 power," replied a sailor in front of a data panel. "Fuel at 87. Looking good."

Ramius nodded again, then flipped down his boom-microphone. "Jordan, how's it looking down there?"

In Engineering, Jordan sat at the central console watching the temperature gauge of the LORD turbine. "Well, the LORD's taking this beating in its stride," he said. "How far till we're in range of the _Callaghan_'s choppers"

"20 minutes."

Jordan's face was grim. "Have we made contact?"

Ramius turned and snapped his fingers in the direction of Radio. A technician looked to him. "_Callaghan_ acknowledges emergency evac needed. A Seahawk is outbound, but we need to clear the Global Anarchy patrols before they can make a pick-up."

"They know we're coming," Ramius said to Jordan. "Just keep the LORD turbine going. We need to red-line it the whole way."

"Of course. Now keep driving."

Ramius allowed himself a brief grin, despite the situation. "Don't mess up my engine room." He terminated the conversation, then contacted the infirmary. "Status of the patient?"

In the infirmary, the ships doctor answered. "We've stopped the bleeding, but the bullet's still in there. We can't get it out here; that requires a proper surgical suite."

Ramius grimaced. "Just keep her stable doc."

"I'll try."

Ramius ended the conversation. For a minute, he just gazed at the ocean blurring past at 120 knots. His thoughts were interrupted by a yell from the radar console. "Multiple contacts bearing zero-two-niner! Coming at us from dead astern and closing fast!"

Ramius quickly looked out to port, just in time to see a Lynx helicopter pull alongside. His eyes took in the missile rails and miniguns mounted on the sides of the chopper. Then he saw the red eagle painted on the side. This he only saw for an instant as the chopper rotated sideways, pointing its cannons at the speeding _Katana_. The barrels began to rotate. "Hard to starboard!" Ramius roared. The helmsman slammed sideways on the wheel and the _Katana_ heeled over sideways in a turn. The air was suddenly full of flying lead as the Lynx opened fire. But the _Katana_ tightened her turn, and the shots went wide. Finally she levelled out and continued her dash. On the bridge, Ramius keyed the intercom. "Evasive manoeuvre protocols!"

In the infirmary, the doctor had staggered as the ship made its turn. Lashing out, he punched a button. The medical table that Lisa had been placed on began to lower into the floor. As it did so, airbags inflated, holding Lisa steady and protecting her through the high-speed manoeuvres of the warship. The doctor himself strapped in. This was going to get rough.

Back on the bridge, things were getting worse. "Radar detects another nine Lynx choppers," yelled a technician.

"Ten in total," Ramius muttered. "We need help. What's the range to the fleet?"

"160 km sir," came the reply

Ramius cursed. "Too far. Maybe, if we're lucky…" He spoke into his microphone. "_Katana_ to any nearby ship. Am under heavy attack. Any allied warship or aircraft, we require immediate assistance."

Back on Mauanui, Jenkirk heard the message in his Longbow. He grinned slightly. His Hellhounds were winning. Then, a glint of light caught his eyes. He looked up, just as a sleek shape darted _under_ the Longbow, the shock of its passing shaking the chopper, which was then enveloped by a cloud of dust being trailed by the shape. Jenkirk cursed as he levelled the chopper and spun to see the Harrier shoot out to sea in the direction of the battle.

The _Katana_ swept across the ocean, with the Lynx helicopters in pursuit. One Lynx tried to get alongside to fire directly into the bridge, but the _Katana_ changed course towards the hovering chopper, forcing it to back off. Another chopper tried to fly head- on towards the speeding warship. This time, the Dradle Industries vessel slid sideways, courtesy of her highly modified Z-drive systems. Yet another chopper attempted to get a laser lock to fire a Hellfire missile, but the _Katana_ abruptly slammed to a halt. The Minigun Broadside roared and the Lynx fell into the water in very small pieces. The Broadside retracted again and the _Katana_ leapt forward. On the bridge, Ramius had had enough. "We need to lose these choppers. Any ideas?"

No one spoke. Then…"Sir, there is one option."

Ramius turned and looked at the sailor at the navigation console, a young ensign that had spoken up to her commanding officer. "I'm listening"

The ensign pressed three buttons and a gods-eye view of the area appeared on the front screen. In the middle of the map was a black ship symbol; the _Katana_. Surrounding the symbol were nine red dots; the nine remaining Lynx helicopters. Near the top of the map were two green landmasses; outlying islands in the Mauanui chain. The ensign zoomed in on the islands. "These islands have a pass between them. It'll be tight, but we can probably make it."

Ramius stood in silence, then nodded. "I like it. That's a good plan. Do it." He strapped himself back in as the _Katana_ turned towards the islands.

Major Geraldo Canctor cursed as the warship dodged another storm of shells. As the leader of the Hellhounds, he was becoming increasingly frustrated by the failure to inflict any damage on the _Katana_. Now, as the vessel darted for a group of islands to the north, a new strategy occurred to him. He threw his Lynx through the air, approaching the _Katana_ from the rear. Closer and closer he got, before he finally opened fire. The shells tore into the top of the superstructure, sweeping away radar antennae. Ramius had no idea that a helicopter was to the rear until the HUD projection of the approaching islands went dead. The _Katana_ arched away, but the damage had been done. "Sir, we've lost the link to Dradelus Four. Real-time satellite intel no longer being received," came the report. Ramius swore. "Try to restore it. If not, leave it and concentrate on our digital maps." He looked back up at the islands, and suddenly thought of something. "Any sandbars across the pass entrance?"

The navigation officer quickly brought up the digital maps and froze. "One sandbar exposed at low tide," she reported, "fifty metres across and encircles the entrance."

Ramius glanced up at the ships clock. "Just after low tide now." He stood in silence, then he spoke into his microphone. "Jordan?"

In Engineering, Jordan answered. "Yeah?"

"Can you get any more power out of the LORD?"

"We're at 100 already," Jordan replied

"I can see that. Can we get any more power?"

Jordan grumbled. "You always want to break my creations. Why can't you just leave them alone?" He cut the conversation. Still grumbling, he started pressing buttons and moving power bars. Within thirty seconds, the power readout of the LORD turbine had crept up to 140 "We've double our fuel usage," he radioed to Ramius. "10 minutes on this setting. Be fast."

Ramius made no reply. Instead, he watched as the speed readout accelerated to 145 knots. As he did so, he saw a flash of light up ahead. Three kilometres away, five of the Lynxes' were waiting. He grinned slightly. "Into the pass we go."

Major Canctor was ready and waiting with four of the Hellhounds. He spoke to his comrades. "Let our brothers to seaward herd him to us. Then, show the Dradle Industries dogs our wrath!" Cheers and war-whoops echoed over the airwaves as the Hellhounds salivated at the anticipation of the kill. Canctor reverted his gaze to the approaching ship. He could see the bow-wave being thrown high into the air as the vessel raced closer. His smile went flat. _The_ _Katana wasn't slowing down_. He scrambled for the radio. "Fire at will!" Tracer rounds arced out towards the warship, but she kept on coming. Then, with a final burst of acceleration, the _Katana_ shot completely out of the water and slid across the sandbar. The Hellhounds tried to turn fast enough to rake the ship with gunfire, but the _Katana_ was just too fast. Still travelling at 110 knots, the warship skidded across the sandbar and into the water on the other side. Then, the _Katana_ entered the pass.

On board, the ship had jolted as it hit the sandbar. A long _shishhhhh_ sound was heard as the vessel slid over the sands and a loud _splash_ as it hit the water on the other side. On the bridge, the crew cheered, while Ramius grinned slightly. But down in Engineering, Jordan watched as the temperature readouts of the LORD turbine climbed far beyond their safe limits. "Shut it down!" he roared, closing the fuel feeds himself. In a flurry of motion, engineers initialised the starters on the normal gas turbines. The LORD turbine flamed out as its fuel was cut and started freewheeling to a halt. Jordan grabbed the intercom. "Ramius, we've had to shut down the LORD. Overheat. Conventional power coming on in 3...2…1…now." With a rumble, the gas turbines ignited. The _Katana_ decelerated, finally stabilising at its standard 70 knots. Up on the bridge, Ramius nodded. "Understood." He turned to the bridge crew. "Stand down from Peregrine-Alpha-One." The _Katana_ began to return to its normal configuration. The four super water-jets retracted and the twin keels re-emerged. But then…

"Sir, I'm getting a fault message on the sniper-cannon."

Ramius swore loudly. "What's the problem?"

"Cannon will not deploy. Possibly shock damage from the sandbar."

Ramius swore again. "Keep trying. We're still within G.A patrols. We need that cannon!"

With a roar, three Lynx helicopters shot overhead, raining lead down on the _Katana_. Now that the LORD turbine was shut down, the Hellhounds had a large speed advantage. Ramius himself leapt forward and threw the wheel to the side, sending the _Katana_ skidding sideways out of the field of fire. Stepping back, he let the helmsman return to control. "Zigzag like you've never zigzagged before," he ordered. Picking up the ships intercom, he gave his orders. "Deploy anti-air guns. Keep the helicopters at bay." Within seconds, the mini-guns began firing. The _Katana_ continued to sweep up the pass, tracers flying on all sides.

Major Canctor cursed as he swung hid Lynx away from the fleeing warship. At every turn, the _Katana_ dodged and sidestepped away from the rivers of lead raining down on her. To make matter worse, at random intervals the ship would return fire. Twice, a Lynx had exploded in a ball of flame and crashed into the water below. Canctor climbed, trying to gain a higher perspective. And then he saw it. A smile lit his face as he transmitted. "All Hellhounds. Cease-fire and drop back. Maintain pursuit, but cease firing."

Onboard the _Katana_, Ramius became concerned. When the enemy stops firing, something is going on. He turned to Navigation. "How long until we're out of the pass?"

"This is the final turn," replied the young ensign. "Visual on the exit in 10 seconds."

Ramius reverted his gaze to the front of the ship, just as the _Katana_ swept around the final corner.

"Reverse thrust!"

The _Katana_ shuddered as the thrust reversers on her hydro jets slammed open, the full thrust of her turbines decelerating the ship. In less than 100 metres, she came to a complete halt. Ramius stared in horror at the reception committee outside. Holding position at the mouth of the pass was a gigantic helicopter carrier. A true giant, the Global Anarchy ship blocked the path of the _Katana_. Beyond, Ramius caught short glimpses of white vessels shooting past. Avenger-class hydrofoils, the only vessel in the Global Anarchy arsenal that could keep up with the _Katana_. He watched as the Lynx helicopters surrounded his vessel. The radio crackled to life. "_Captain of the Katana,_" came the voice of Major Canctor. "_May I complement you on a fantastic display of seamanship. But unfortunately, now is your time to die. Farewell._"

One Lynx helicopter took up a position just in front of the battered Dradle Industries warship. In the cockpit, the pilot smiled as he set the laser designator on the bridge. Then, without further thought, he pulled the trigger and the Hellfire missile leapt off its rail to destroy the _Katana_.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

At that exact moment, the Lynx suddenly, _shockingly_, blew up. The Hellfire went with it, having not travelled far enough to escape the blast. For a second there was stunned silence. Then, with a roar, a black blur screeched past and took down another Lynx. Ramius stood, ecstatic, as the Sea Harrier blew past. Startled, the Lynxes scattered like dust before a tornado. This gave Ramius the chance he needed. "Fire the Shkvals!" Just above the waterline, two doors slid open and two dark forms fired out, splashing into the water. Once in their element, the two VA-111 Russian-built rocket-powered Shkval torpedoes accelerated to their maximum speed of 350 km/h. Twenty seconds, a white flash obscured the helicopter carrier as the two torpedoes detonated. The ship was blown in half, clearing the way for the _Katana_ to scorch out of the pass and into the open sea.

Major Canctor was stunned. The immense explosion had destroyed the massive carrier and now his target was escaping! In the meantime, he and his fellow Hellhounds were frantically trying to evade the Harrier. He threw his Lynx left, dodging another helicopter that was frantically trying to evade. In doing so, he didn't see the incoming missile trail until it was too late. His world flashed a brilliant white, and then went black.

Pedro strode across the deck of the _Perdedor_ as it skimmed lightly over the ocean beyond the hydrofoils. Now that the _Katana_ had cut down its speed to a more conventional 70 knots, the _Perdedor_ could keep up. He watched the radar as the Sea Harrier ripped shreds out of the Lynx fleet. "The bouncer has been drawn off, leaving us free to crash the party. Full speed."

With a roar of rotor blades, a black shape flew over the _Katana_ before settling into formation. Ramius turned and listened with relief as the radio came to life. "_Katana, this is Nightingale One. Request deceleration and immediate landing to retrieve patient."_

"Roger that Nightingale One. Decelerating now." He turned and headed for the infirmary. "Do it," he said as he disappeared.

The _Katana_ started to slow, settling into a mere 20 knot cruise. The Seahawk sidled sideways to the helicopter pad on the rear of the ship before settling lightly onto the deck. Within seconds the hatch in the superstructure burst open and a small group emerged. The _Katana_'s doctor marched beside the stretcher rapidly noting details onto a clipboard, conferring loudly to Jordan over the noise of the rotors. On the stretcher, Lisa lay sedated. On the other side strode Ramius. As they arrived at the Seahaawk, the crew assisted in the loading. Ramius gripped Lisa by the hand. "Just hold on. Just stay with us. We will be together again." For an instant, he thought he felt Lisa return his grip. Beside him, Jordan took one look at the scene and climbed aboard the helicopter. Ramius met his gaze. Jordan nodded and closed the door. Ramius stepped back as the helicopter began to spool up to flying speed. Suddenly, a violent explosion blasted water into the air just behind the _Katana_. Ramius turned in shock and saw it. There, no more than 200 metres away and 10 metres above the water, was the Longbow.

Jenkirk snarled with rage as he peppered the superstructure of the _Katana_ with machine gun fire. His squadron had been decimated, and revenge could only bring them to glory. He turned and prepared to fire at the Seahawk. His finger tightened on the trigger, just as the sky in front of him ignited. Jenkirk yelled in shock and pulled back on the stick. He threw the helicopter into a tight turn, and came face to face with the Sea Harrier. His work with the Hellhounds done, Admiral Bickerson had returned to defend the medical helicopter.

Ramius watched as the two aircraft circled each other like two wary cats. Then, they engaged. The Harrier shot forwards, guns blazing. The Longbow leapt to the side and strafed the Harrier as it blazed past. The Harrier started belching smoke from its exhaust outlets, but it still held its place in the air. Ramius watch, entranced at the death-ballet being played out overhead. Then, with a crackle of static, he heard the voice of Admiral Bickerson. "Ramius! Get out of here! Get that chopper clear!"

"But sir…"

"But nothing!" the Admiral roared. "That's an order!"

Ramius stared up helplessly at the two combatants, then turned and gestured at the pilot of the Seahawk to go. The pilot nodded and the Seahawk lifted off, heading for the horizon.

Jenkirk watched as the pilot of the Harrier talked into his radio. He grinned evilly as he pulled the trigger of the cannon. The 30mm tank-busting shells ripped through the Harrier. Admiral Bickerson tried to return fire, but the Harrier was dying around him. Then, he knew what he needed to do. He took one final look at firing Longbow, closed his eyes and pushed forward on the control stick and throttle.

Jenkirk watched as the Harrier staggered in the sky. He released the pressure on the trigger. At the same moment, the Harrier rocketed forward. Jenkirks' eyes grew wide…

The Sea Harrier, streaming smoke, crashed full on into the hovering Apache Longbow and exploded in a horrendous fireball, taking the Longbow, Jenkirk and Admiral James Bickerson with it.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

On the _Katana_, Ramius watched in horror as the Sea Harrier collided with the Longbow. Both aircraft exploded in an immense fireball and the wreckage plunged into the sea. Ramius stood, watching it rain down, knowing that his boss, his mentor, his friend, had sacrificed himself. He stood there for a moment. Then a tone sounded in his headset. He flipped down the microphone. "Yes?"

On board the Seahawk, Jordan heard the hollowness of his friends voice and, in an instant, knew. "He went kamikaze, didn't he?"

Silence for a moment. "Yeah."

Jordan too went silent. Then, he spoke. "Lisa's holding stable. We're about an hour flight time from the _Callaghan_. As long as there are no more surprises, she should make it."

Ramius closed his eyes in relief. "OK. I'll extract in a few minutes. Just one thing I need to take care of."

Jordan could hear the tone of Ramius' voice. Dark and foreboding. "The _Perdedor_?"

"The _Perdedor_."

Jordan was silent. "Good luck," was all he could say.

Ramius nodded. "Thanks. And Jordan?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep her alive."

"I'll do my best."

Ramius cut the connection, then contacted Radar. "Where is the _Perdedor_?"

"_Bearing one-zero-eight. Closing at 60 knots._"

Ramius strode across the deck and entered the superstructure. "Good. We wait here."

Suddenly, another voice came on the line. "_Sir, this is Fire-Control. We've still got a fault signal from the sniper-cannon. Please advise._"

Ramius cursed. "Keep trying. If we are lucky, it may clear itself."

"_Yes sir. We'll keep on it._"

On the _Perdedor_, Pedro paced the deck. He snapped around to the radar console. "They haven't moved for the past few minutes?"

"No sir," replied the technician. "The _Katana_ has held position for the past five minutes. Judging by the behaviour before, this doesn't seem right."

Pedro agreed. "All ahead 2/3." He stared out of the window. "What are you up to," he seemed to mutter to himself.

The _Perdedor_, sleek and smooth like a streamlined penguin, cruised up to the _Katana_, which just sat there. As they drew closer, Pedro could make out a figure, standing on the wing of the _Katana_'s bridge. Looking through his binoculars, he recognised who it was. As the ships drew alongside, he too stepped out onto the wing of his own bridge. He picked up a megaphone and raised it to his lips. "Attention hostile vessel. Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded."

On the _Katana_, Ramius cupped his hands to his lips. "Or what?" he yelled.

Pedro scowled. "You will be decimated. Cease movement."

Ramius spoke again. "You shot Lisa. You hurt her. Now, it's your turn. Frequency 105.7." With that, he turned and strode into the bridge. Snapping his fingers at a radio tech, the radio was set to the correct frequency. "Are you there?"

Pedro's' voice replied. _"I'm here. So how do you wish to die?"_

"I was thinking of a high speed duel. Sounds graceful and such. Interested?"

Pedro laughed. _"Prepare to die with honour then."_

The two warships separated and stood off 300 metres away from each other. The _Perdedor_, bristling with forward-mounted cannons and a captain bent on killing his foe. The _Katana_, minus its primary weapon, its captain fuelled by anger, but remaining calm. "Ready?" Ramius radioed.

"_Ready,"_ replied Pedro.

"Then begin!"

The two ships immediately got up on plane. The distance between the two was cut to minimal in the blink of an eye. Ironically, each captain followed the Give Way of the sea, the _Katana_ aiming to pass the _Perdedor_ to starboard of the terrorist vessel. The Minigun Broadside popped out from the _Katana_. On the _Perdedor_, five Oerlikon machine guns extended from the deck and tracked the Dradle Industries vessel. The _Perdedor_ fired first, round after round slamming out of the barrels and crashing into the _Katana_, bouncing off the titanium alloy armour. A second later, the Minigun Broadside whirred into life as the ships swept by each other. A trail of impact sparks swept across the side of the _Perdedor_ as if an invisible painter was painting a strip of fire across the hull. Two of the Oerlikons sparked and died. Then, the two ships disengaged, and the race was on. The _Katana_ leapt forward, while the _Perdedor_ heeled over to starboard in a one-hundred and eighty degree arc, before setting off in hot pursuit. As it did so, a heavy Bofors auto-cannon slid out of the forward deck. Indexing around, it started firing shells in front of the _Katana_, leading its target. The sea in front of the warship was torn apart as the shells detonated on the surface. But the _Katana_ began to zigzag across the water, dodging the worst of the explosions. One shell detonated right in front of the vessel, but the _Katana_ drove through the explosion, emerging from the other side.

Ramius strode the deck, glancing at screens displaying vital statistics about his vessel. Around him, various sailors gave a running commentary of the battle.

"Vessel is still firing high-explosive shells. Evasive manoeuvres continuing."

"Gas-turbines are at ninety percent. Temperatures are stable."

"Sniper-cannon still faulted. Technicians are resetting the program now."

Ramius continued to pace, then turned and marched to the port side. Through the window, he could see the _Perdedor_ slowly reeling in the distance. As he watched, the Bofors cannon ceased firing as the terrorist vessel drew alongside. The two vessels streaked across the waves at 65 knots, no more than ten metres apart. Ramius raised his binoculars and focussed in on the other ship. After a second, he could see the figure of Pedro watching him. Both captains turned as one, opened similar cabinets by their respective ships and withdrew a weapon. Each captain stepped out into the screaming wind outside of their bridges and raised their weapons. Pedro opened fire with his M-16 while Ramius raised a Desert Eagle and fired six quick shots. Within ten seconds, each warrior had emptied his weapon. No hits. Each captain stepped back into his bridge and continued pacing.

On the Seahawk, Jordan entered the flight deck. "How much further to the _Callaghan_?" he asked the pilot.

"Forty minutes flight-time sir," replied the pilot. "We'll be on the deck in forty-three."

Jordan grunted in approval, then turned and re-entered the rear section. Lisa was wired to a heart monitor, while an IV dripped into her arm. He scanned the read-outs. Satisfied with what he saw, he sat back in a canvas seat. He picked up the radio. "_Katana_, this is Porsche One, come in." Silence. He tried again. Still silence. He sat back, just as there was a shout from the cockpit. "Sir, a vessel just appeared on radar, heading for the combat area!" Jordan sprinted up to the front of the aircraft. On the radar, a green blip headed straight towards them. He picked up a pair of binoculars and focused in on the vessel. "  
What the…" was all he could say as the blip swept past and raced in the opposite direction.

The _Katana_ and _Perdedor_ scorched across the ocean. Every time one fired, the other would dodge. The _Perdedor_ manoeuvred behind the Dradle Industries vessel and fired a salvo of heat-seeking missiles at the rear quarter. The _Katana_ responded by firing a storm of flares to starboard while she turned to port. The missiles shot past, leaving a trail of smoke behind. On the bridge of the _Katana_, Ramius knew that this battle had to end soon. "Status on the sniper-cannon."

"Still resetting," replied a fire-control technician. "Another three minutes."

Ramius turned back to the screens showing the view behind the ship. The _Perdedor_ was blasting through the waves a kilometre ahead, firing shells to the side of the _Katana_, right into the fire zone of the Minigun Broadside. "What are you up to Pedro?" he asked himself

Pedro, despite the fact that he was yet to land a solid hit on his foe, was enjoying himself. He grinned as the _Katana_ skipped across the water in front of him. "Yes, continue to fight," he muttered. "It's only a matter of time before you meet your end." The _Katana_ heeled over as the auto-cannon on the _Perdedor_ fired again. The Minigun Broadside roared and a torrent of lead intercepted the shell as it flew. Then, suddenly, the miniguns went silent.

Ramius swore. The constant fire had finally run through all of the ammunition for the Minigun Broadside. The realisation hit him as the _Perdedor_ pulled alongside. The Oerlikons opened fire unopposed, and the _Katana_ shuddered under the blows. Damage control lights blazed to life along the main control panel. Ramius spun to watch as the main cannon of the enemy vessel turned towards him. He sighed. There truly was no way out of this one. "All stop," he said as he slumped into his chair. Beneath his feet, the scream of the turbines died to a quiet whisper. The Oelikons ceased firing. As Ramius watched, hatches opened all along the side of the _Perdedor_. From these hatches, various heavy guns and missiles started to deploy; more than enough to annihilate the _Katana_. Ramius watched, uncaring. His thoughts wandered to Lisa. He hoped that she would survive. He'd done all he could.

"Sniper-cannon online sir!" yelled a fire-control tech.

Ramius grinned. "Goodnight Pedro," he muttered. "Take them out."

The two warships bobbed on the waves one hundred metres apart. Pedro was pleased. He had the _Katana_ in his sights. Finally, he would destroy the infamous Ramius Manor. He was still grinning as a series of hatches on the deck of the _Katana_ burst open, and the long-barrelled sniper-cannon emerged. With a whine of hydraulics, the mighty cannon smoothly indexed around to point directly at him. Pedro's smile went flat. "Damnit."

With a roar like a thousand freight trains self-destructing simultaneously, the sniper-cannon fired a single round directly into the bridge of the _Perdedor_. The shell, travelling at hypersonic velocity, punched clean through before screaming off to impact against an island a kilometre away. However, the shell itself actually did minimal damage, the close range too short for the shell to arm. The real destruction came from the shockwave. The port side of the _Perdedor_ disintegrated as the shock smashed into it. Pedro just vaporised as the shockwave pounded the vessel. The _Perdedor_ was literally snapped in half as the pressure pulse subjected the entire hull to thousands of times past its structural strength. For its part, the _Katana_ absorbed the recoil from its cannon as the entire mount shifted back before sliding forward to its ready position. On the bridge, the crew roared in triumph as their enemy was vanquished. Still in his chair, Ramius closed his eyes and let his breath hiss out through his teeth. "Well done people," he said. "Conn, set a course for the fleet. Let's go ho…"

Boom.

Rockets landed all around the _Katana_. Ramius' eyes snapped open and flew to the radar screen. A solid mass was headed towards them. He snatched up his binoculars and focussed in. There, in the distance, was the mass of Avenger-hydrofoils. He cursed. "Prepare for round two people!" he roared. The _Katana_ wheeled around and prepared to face her foe head-on. Suddenly, in front of the warship, the sky flickered. Then, with a flash of pixelation, the _Dark Trident_ appeared. A voice slammed out over the air-waves. "_Katana, extract from the area now!_" came the voice of Commander Gargavich. "_We'll_ _take it from here._"

"Negative," roared Ramius. "You can't take them all!"

Gargavich chuckled. "We can take these terrorist dogs. Go. You know that James and Lisa would want you to."

Ramius was silent. Then, without answering, he turned to his crew. "Let's go."

The _Katana_ quickly got up on plane and scorched towards the horizon. On the _Dark Trident_, Gargavich watched as the vessel vanished. Then, he turned and watched as a horde of missiles, fired from the hydrofoils, screamed towards him.

On the _Katana_'s radar screen, the blip signifying the _Dark Trident_ flared and disappeared.


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

The _Katana_ slowed to a sedate pace as it neared the Dradle Industries fleet. Bobbing in the bay, the _Messernacht_ and _Oxothor _were pointed out to sea, ready to engage any enemy that showed up. Beyond them was the _Callaghan_. On the rear of the hospital ship sat the Seahawk helicopter that had carried the wounded Lisa. Ramius surveyed the scene, his mind turning over the events that had taken place. The screen beside him flickered and the image of Jordan appeared. "Welcome back _Katana_," he said. "Glad to see you."

"Same here," replied Ramius, exhausted. "How's Lisa?"

"Surgeons finished about ten minutes ago. She's going to be fine."

Ramius sighed in relief. "Beautiful. What about the _Dark Trident_?"

"The signal disappeared from our scanners about twenty minutes ago. We have to assume that the Big T is down."

Ramius swore. "Right then. We'd better get moving. No telling how long it will be before Global Anarchy finds us."

"True. I'll give the orders to get underway."Then, Jordan did something very odd. Very swiftly, he _blinked twice_. It was a lightning fast move, but Ramius caught on to it. He breathed a curse, and then cut the screen. "About turn!" he screamed. "Get us out of here!" The Katana slammed into a starboard turn, accelerating as the hydro-jets spun up to full power. But it was too late.

Abruptly, the sea to the stern of the _Katana_ flickered, pixelated. Then, with a _thud_, a ship decloaked. However, this was not the _Dark Trident_. This ship was darker, bristling with cannon and missiles. This was the _Maquina, _the flagship of the Mexican. A Stalin-class battleship, it had been purchased by the Mexican as a heavy-hitter escort for his various activities. Equipped with state-of-the-art technology, the _Maquina_ was truly a force to be reckoned with.

The screen flicked back to life. This time however, Jordan was gone. Instead was the image of Tranous. "Welcome back Mr Manor," he said pleasantly. "If you'll be so kind as to shut down your engines."

Ramius glared out at the battleship that blocked his path. "Ignore him," he shouted to his crew. The _Katana_ continued to close the gap. Finally, the _Maquina_ responded. Cannons indexed around to bear on the _Oxothor_. With a roar, the side of the _Maquina_ turned to fire as the cannons blazed. The _Oxothor_ wasn't just destroyed, it was _annihilated_. Tranous spoke again. "Stop your engines or the hospital ship is next."

Ramius slowly turned to the helm. "All stop." The _Katana_ slowly drifted to a halt as the hydrofoils appeared on the horizon. Around the headlands, and from within the various inlets, the fleet of Global Anarchy emerged. The frigates, the freighters, the massive helicopter carriers; all emerged as the trap closed on the Dradle Industries fleet. And all Ramius could do was watch as Zodiacs cruised up to his vessel. From one inflatable, a number of soldiers climbed aboard. A minute later, the bridge door was flung open as a G.A officer stormed in and slammed a rifle butt into his face, knocking him out.

An hour later, Ramius was thrown roughly out of a truck. As his blindfold was removed, he observed the scene in front of him. He was on a cliff, approximately forty metres above the water. Waiting there was Scott Tranous. Beside him was Jordan. All around them were G.A. troopers, leaning against their trucks and motorcycles. Out on the water, the Global Anarchy fleet was heading out to sea. Only five ships remained; four of the hydrofoils were guarding the _Katana_ and _Messernacht_, ready to open fire if either attempted an escape. The _Callaghan_ sat unopposed. The _Maquina_ sat across the bay, ready to engage any vessel entering the bay. Ramius observed this scene, and sighed. "So I assume that Jordan and I are going to be dealt with then?"

Tranous nodded. "Of course. I can't leave you both to interfere with our plans again."

"But I'm hungry," grumbled Jordan. "I can't go into the great beyond hungry. I won't enjoy it."

Ramius snorted with laughter. Tranous merely scowled. "You two destroyed years of planning, months of logistics. Millions of dollars worth of equipment. All I wanted was a better world. Is that so much to ask?"

Ramius looked the terrorist leader in the eye. "I like my planet anarchy free, if you don't mind."

Tranous closed his eyes briefly. "Well gentlemen, the world will have to go on without you." He drew his sword. "Goodbye."

"One question," Ramius said quickly. "What will happen to Lisa?"

Tranous gazed at Ramius. "She will be our prisoner, until we find a use for her."

Ramius nodded slowly. "I only ask that you do not harm her."

"Same here," interjected Jordan

Tranous smiled slightly. "I respect you both as warriors, Jordan Junicol and Ramius Manor. As such, I will not harm the girl. However, this is where our association with each other ends"

Ramius and Jordan nodded. Scott lifted his sword high in the air. The sun glinted off the blade as the light hit it.

Then, like lightning, Tranous brought down the sword.


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

It happened incredibly quickly.

The ridge above the troops exploded in a volcanic rush of dirt. The shockwave blasted the Global Anarchy troops, Tranous included, off their feet. Ramius and Jordan toppled over, but quickly clawed their way to their feet. Barely metres away sat two Kawasaki Ninja ZK-10R motorcycles, left unguarded by two G.A. troopers. The duo sprinted for the bikes, kick-started them and tore off. As they did so, Jordan leaned down and picked up an Uzi that had been left by the bikes. Behind them, Tranous roared with rage and leapt for his own bike, while the troopers around him scramble for their vehicle.

Jordan and Ramius scorched along the road as it travelled across the cliffs. The motorbikes exhaust blasted out behind them as they headed for the beach. As they did so, Jordan pulled up alongside. "What the hell was that?" he yelled over the sound of the wind.

Ramius turned to look at him and shrugged. "Beats me. Can't complain though." As he said this, he saw a totally unexpected sight. A vast slice of sea up ahead suddenly turned to static, flickering and sparking, until the interference cleared, revealing the vessel. It was blackened on some parts, and had large dents on others, but it was still operational, against all expectation. The _Dark Trident_ was back, all 800 heavily-armoured feet of her. As they watched, a missile flared off the foredeck of the mighty battleship. The missile arced high into the sky, before spiking down into the roadway 200 metres on front of the motorcyclists. It speared into the rock, but did not detonate. The tail section blew clear and a handle emerged. The duo slammed on the brakes, and the bikes came to a halt. Ramius leapt off and ran to the missile. Then, he grabbed the handle and in one smooth motion, drew a sword from the missile. As he did so, a note came with it. Jordan caught it and read it. "_Your wages are looking mighty thin_," he read.

"Doesn't that guy know when to call it a night," beamed Ramius as the _Dark Trident_ cloaked again. Suddenly, the sound of engines wafted towards them. "Get going," he said to Jordan. "Get to the _Messernacht_. I've got a score to settle."

"Just don't do anything stupid," replied Jordan as he gunned his engine and sped off. Ramius watched as his friend disappeared, then turned to wait.

The Global Anarchy force roared along the roadway. The forward team comprised of two troopers on motorbikes, identical to the one Jordan rode. The mid-team was two Humvees, each with four troopers inside. Finally, Tranous brought up the rear on his motorcycle. The entire force sped by an outcrop of rock. Tranous glanced ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of his quarries. As such, he almost didn't see the rider-less cycle rocket towards him. A split-second before impact, he spotted it, and laid his bike on its side as the out-of-control cycle flew off the road and over the cliffs. He slid, his bike spinning off in another direction. When he finally came to a halt, he sprang to his feet and turned to see Ramius standing in the middle of the road, sword in hand. Both stood, glaring at the other. Then, Tranous bounded forward, yelling like a banshee. Ramius sprang forward to meet him, and the two engaged.

Jordan rode, pushing his bike to its limits. Behind him, the two cycle-terrorists had caught up and were now firing at him. Jordan dodged as best he could, but the troopers were getting slowly more and more accurate. "Can't we just get along?" he muttered, raising the Uzi and pulling the trigger. The Uzi fired. Two shots, then the slide jammed open. Empty. Jordan swore. Then, thinking quickly, he _threw_ the Uzi behind him. The gun bounced once, before hitting the front wheel of the first motorcyclist. The wheel jammed and the cycle tumbled forwards, throwing the rider off. The cycle then went airborne. The second cyclist barely had time to scream before the bike slammed into him, blasting him off his own ride. The entire thing only took three seconds. In the aftermath, Jordan blazed away as the two troopers tried to figure out what had happened.

Back on the cliffs, Tranous and Ramius continued their sword-fight. Tranous wielded the wicked blade like a true master, flicking the blade left and right, trying to catch Ramius off-guard. But Ramius didn't fall for it. Each strike was deflected. Each feint was combated. Each slash was answered. The two combatants disengaged briefly. "Not bad," panted Tranous. "Such a pity you won't leave this island alive."

Ramius grinned. "Bring it on."

Tranous raised his blade and they re-engaged.

Back at the bay, Jordan finally caught sight of the fleet. He smiled to himself. Two of the hydrofoils had left, leaving one parked alongside the _Messernacht_ while the other patrolled. He glanced briefly at the road as it travelled by his ship. Because of the geography of the island, the _Messernacht_ had been able to pull up right alongside the cliffs. His mind digested the angles, velocities and masses. Yes, it could be done. He gunned the engine. The Humvees behind him now opened fire, but the motorbike was too nimble for them. Closer and closer came the edge of the cliff. Then, with a roar, Jordan and the motorbike blasted off the side of the cliff, over the water. A full two seconds later, they slammed onto the deck of the _Messernacht_. Jordan leapt off the cycle and ran to the bridge. The G.A. captain, who had been left to keep an eye on the crew, turned in surprise as the door flew open, striking him in the head and knocking him out. But Jordan didn't stop moving. He sprinted past his stunned crewmen and smashed his fist down on a button on the control panel. Outside, troops were about to spill over the side of the hydrofoil onto the Dradle Industries ship when a pair of blades knifed out. The hydrofoil was instantly shoved clear, its hull smashed in, and quickly began to sink into the water. Finally, Jordan took a moment, and turned to his stunned crewmen. "I've said it a thousand times. Global Anarchy room service; really bad."

The _Maquina_ had cruised out of the bay and was patrolling the coastline. On the bridge, the Mexican strode back and forth, eyeing displays. Suddenly, a crewman spoke up. "Sir, radar reports that the _Messernacht_ has started to move."

The Mexican strode to a radar display. On it, the blip that signified the _Messernacht_ was beginning to move. "What about the hydrofoils?" he barked.

"No reply," said a radioman. "No answer from the hydrofoils."

The Mexican swore. "Turn around. Return to the bay. We'll finish this now." The _Maquina_ turned swiftly, just as the sky to port flickered, pixelated, and then the _Dark Trident_ slammed into view. Startled, the wheelman of the _Maquina_ reversed the turn, heading away from the battleship. Seconds later, a screen flickered to life and an image appeared. Still limping from a leg injury sustained from his escape from the wreckage of his Harrier, Admiral James Bickerson spoke. "Attention terrorist vessel. You are under arrest for piracy and terrorist activities. Shut down your engines and surrender."

The Mexican swore. "Try and make me _puta_!" He spun to his crew. "Fire the missiles!" Hatches on the foredeck of the _Maquina_ slammed open and a salvo of anti-ship missiles roared into the sky. On the deck of the _Dark Trident_, launch rails slid into position, and a quartet of interceptor Super-Sidewinders screamed off into the sky. A series of flashes were the only sign of successful intercepts. The Mexican cursed. "Fire again!" he screamed.

Twenty miles away, the _Messernacht_ rounded the headlands, headed for the open sea. On radar, Jordan watched as the missiles engaged. He grinned. "Use to fire the guns dead-eye, eh sir?" he muttered. "Let's put that to the test." He turned to Countermeasure control. "Initiate program Alset Bravo Three."

"Alset Bravo Three, yes sir." The countermeasures technician powered up his systems. On the roof of the bridge, the SEMPP array extended. Seconds later, a small green light blipped to life on the Countermeasures console. "Sir, Alset Bravo Three is active." Deep within the hull of the _Messernacht_, an electric induction motor began to spin, creating an electro-magnetic pulse. An EMP. The pulse was directed to the spires, and then extended in all directions for thirty miles, engulfing the _Maquina_ and _Dark Trident_.

On the bridge of the _Dark Trident_, Admiral Bickerson watched as the radar image projection in front of him spluttered, flickered and died. He chuckled, and then turned to his crew. "Engage EMP checklist. Revert to initial systems." All around the ship, sailors de-activated high-tech systems and switched to the ancient, World War Two era systems. Fire control computers were shut down and technicians moved to optical systems. The variable pitch propellers were locked into their most efficient position and the computers controlling them shut down. From cabinets on the bridge, maps were retrieved and rolled out onto the map display. Seven miles away, similar tasks were taking place on the _Maquina_. Then, both ships engaged. In this battle, the two battleships would fight old school.

The _Maquina_ fired first. Four heavily armoured turrets, each armed with two 17-inch rifles, traversed in an arc to aim at the distant _Dark Trident_. With a roar, the turrets fired. Each shell landed short of the Dradle Industries vessel, which even now was arcing to port. Eventually, the _Dark Trident_ was heading for a point slightly ahead of the Mexicans' flagship. The two forward turrets of the _Dark Trident_ thundered their answer. Five shells shot over the _Maquina_, missing by at least two hundred yards. One shell, however, had misfired, the propellant one of several bags hosed down when the damage from the hydrofoils had caused a small fire. Immediately, the rear of the cannon was opened, and a sailor withdrew the bag, replacing it with another. Twenty seconds later, the shell was fired. Arcing high into the air, it screamed down on the stern of the _Maquina_, punching through and detonating. The ship shuddered, but continued on. The _Maquina_ in turn changed course towards the _Dark Trident_ and fired again. Two shells fell onto the deck of the _Dark Trident_, detonating with a thunderous blast. The impact knocked all on the bridge off their feet, Admiral Bickerson included. He staggered to his feet. "Left standard rudder," he roared. "Bring all turrets to bear." The _Dark Trident_ responded sluggishly, but it clawed its way into the turn. As the rear batteries were unmasked, they too fired. All shells fell short as the battleships closed to within four miles.

On the cliff tops, Ramius and Tranous continued to fight. Their swords flashed in the sun, both fought with their lives on the line. Tranous swung into a spinning kick, which Ramius jumped and responded with a downward slash. Tranous dropped and rolled left, leaving Ramius' blade to swipe empty air, Ramius, off balance, slipped and fell to the ground. His sword clattered away. Tranous got to his feet. He lowered his sword to Ramius's throat and laughed derisively. "So what are you fighting for Manor? Pride? Democracy? Your life?"

Ramius looked up at the terrorist leader. Then, he smiled. "No." With that, Ramius spun on the ground, knocking Tranous's feet out from under him. As Tranous fell, his grip on his sword loosened. Ramius used his momentum to flip himself upwards. The two passed each other in the air; Tranous falling, Ramius bounding to his feet. As he did so, he grabbed the sword from Tranous, swung it quickly and drove it into the terrorist leaders' chest. The sword went in deep, and stuck there. Tranous lay on the ground, his eyes wide as his life bled out. Ramius looked down at him. "Her name is Lisa," he said. The terrorist leader looked up at him, then the life behind the eyes went out. On the cliffs of Mauanui, Scott Tranous, leader of Global Anarchy, died.

Out to sea, the _Dark Trident_ and _Maquina_ continued to close the distance. Each warship was on a course that allowed each of the massive turrets to fire. Shells tore through the air, landing all around the ships. As they did so, sailors continued the tasks that their grandfathers had generations before; operating the turrets, loading shells, computing angles. And still the mighty iron dinosaurs Three miles. Two miles. One mile, eventually, the vessels closed to within 100 metres. At this range, the massive rifles on the deck of the battleships could not lower far enough to blast the other. The ships continued on, each captain waiting for the other to make a move. Admiral Bickerson, raised his binoculars. "Keep her steady," was all he said as he watched the _Maquina_ sailing off the port bow. Suddenly, a flicker on the bridge caught his eyes. He turned and watched as the map projection came back online. In the course of the battle, the two antagonists had move beyond the range of the _Messernacht_'s EMP. The Admiral spun back to the _Maquina_, just in time to watch as the Vertical Launch Silo doors flipped open. It was then that he knew. He knew how to defeat this final threat. As the HUD came back to life, he gave his orders. "Lock onto the forward ammunition magazine."

"But sir," replied the fire-control technician, "the guns will not depress far enough."

"Do it!" roared the Admiral. On the HUD, a small crosshair appeared on the image of the _Maquina_. Admiral Bickerson smiled. "It's time to end this

On the _Maquina_, the Mexican watched as Admiral Bickerson threw a sharp salute in his direction. As such, he very nearly missed the burst of fire from the forward deck of his nemesis. Doorstop climbed skywards through its own firestorm before blasting clear, arcing down and slamming into the hull of the _Maquina_. The vehicle punched straight through the hull at three times the speed of sound, before plunging into the ocean. It path took it directly through the forward ammunition magazine. The shells in the magazine cooked off and detonated, igniting the fuel in its tanks in the bowels of the ship. With a thunderous roar, the _Maquina_ disintegrated. The shockwave blasted across the waves and slammed into the _Dark Trident_, which shrugged off the shock like a elephant hit by a baseball bat. As the wreckage rained down, the _Dark Trident_ cleared the area.

An hour later, four ships sailed away from the Mauanui island chain. The _Callaghan_, the _Katana_, the _Messernacht_ and the _Dark Trident_. The group set a course due west. As they did so, a song could be heard emitting from the sound system of one vessel. The song; Mark Knopflers' 'Going Home.'


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lisa stirred. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Her blurry vision slowly cleared to reveal a white room. She slowly sat up. Around her was the medical facility of the _Dark Trident_. She looked about, and spotted a familiar figure in a nearby chair. "Ah, you're awake," Australian Ambassador Bruce Featherguill said with a smile. "Good to see you."

"Same here," replied Lisa. "What did I miss?"

Bruce collected his thoughts. "Well, the crisis is over. Scott Tranous was killed on Mauanui, and the UN is mopping up the remains of Global Anarchy. That's one group that won't be back again in a hurry. The _Callaghan_ has gone back to help with the refugees. That's about it."

"Good to hear. So where are we?"

"We entered Suva harbour about a day ago.You've been out of it since the surgery. The fleet are re-provisioning and I'm catching an early-morning diplomatic flight back to Canberra in about three hours. We can put in a stop at Auckland if you want."

Lisa smiled. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll make my own way back."

At a bar overlooking the harbour, the three captains met. They sat in silence, sipping their drinks, contemplating the events of the past few days. Finally, Jordan put down his glass. "Have the Australians paid up?"

Admiral Bickerson sighed. "Indeed. Margaret confirmed this morning. Seven hundred thousand dollars. In fact, they've invited us to their annual war-games of the coast of Perth, if we're ready in time."

"Well I'm in." They gazed towards the harbour. Then Jordan spoke again. "Well, I'd better get back to the ship. We're still trying to get the parts of the _Gabel_ out of the walls." He picked up his hat. Before he left though, he turned to the Admiral. "By the way sir, I believe you still owe me a new submersible." And with that, he left. "I'd better get going too," the Admiral sighed. "The re-supply should be wrapping up now. We should be able to get underway by midday. Be back at the dock by then."

Ramius raised his hand in farewell as Admiral Bickerson left. He picked up his Coke and sipped at it, watching the horizon as the early glow of the sun illuminated the horizon. As he sat there, he sensed another person approaching. "Good morning captain." He slowly turned. There, in front of him, stood Lisa. He smiled. "Greetings. Pull up a seat." Lisa sat down beside him. Together, they watched as the sun peeked over the horizon. As it did so, he felt Lisa move a little towards him. "I don't believe I ever said thank you for coming to get me," she said.

"Well I couldn't just leave you there," replied Ramius. "That would not be gentlemanly at all."

"So this is what you do," Lisa asked. "All the absences. The times away. You've been off sailing the seas, making things right with the world?"

Ramius turned to face her, looking deep into the eyes of the woman he loved, and made the only reply that he could. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Lisa looked at him with disbelief, and then burst out laughing. Then, she moved closer to Ramius, snuggling into the arms that he wrapped around her. Together, they watched as the dawn came to the Pacific.


End file.
